


Kirkwall Rentboy

by The_Real_Fenris



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Drug Use, Escort Service, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Modern Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Oral Sex, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Tags May Change, Transphobia, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 79,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6009664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate title: Hard in Hightown</p><p>Modern AU. Disowned by his family, a young Dorian Pavus finds himself in Kirkwall where he finds work as a male escort. And becomes involved with two beautiful but troubled men.</p><p>If you are looking for a lighthearted romp which is also a total smut-fest, you have come to the right place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Fucking Romantic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [As the Flames Go Higher](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533327) by [TCRegan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan). 



Kirkwall was a shithole.

That had been Dorian Pavus’ initial impression when he arrived three months ago, with a black leather suitcase at his side, and a rather fine, Movado museum watch on his left wrist. The latter being a present from his father to him when he’d graduated, _summa cum laude_ , from the University of Minrathous.

He still had the suitcase, stored in his miniscule closet, but he’d sold the watch a long time ago. He’d had a fair amount of cash when he’d left Qarinus, but he’d been so accustomed to wasting money on whatever frivolous thing or fine meal or better vintage of wine he wanted, and being able to call home for more money, that he’d spent his cash a lot quicker than he should have. At least that was the lesson he’d learned when he’d been forced to pawn the watch. So he could eat.

The pawn shop had given him four hundred dollars for his prized possession – less than half its worth. After that, he was very careful what he spent his money on. He downgraded his cell phone plan next. How much data did a man need, anyway? As long as he could still text his friends back in Tevinter he was fine. Not that many of them – except for Felix – had been responding to his messages with any frequency now that he’d been disowned as the sole heir to the Pavus family fortune.

Still, the rent wasn’t going to pay itself. He’d joined a gym shortly after arriving in Kirkwall. It wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as he was accustomed to, and though it was small, it was clean and located conveniently close to his apartment in Lowtown.

Lowtown, which was the shittiest part of the shithole which was Kirkwall.

He liked the owner of the gym – a transman who went by the nickname “Krem.” So it was with some regret that he’d gone there one afternoon to cancel his membership. Even though the fees weren’t really that high. But Krem, not willing to buy any of Dorian’s excuses, finally managed to weasel the truth out of him. He then offered Dorian a deal – Dorian would work at the gym two days a week. Krem would pay him minimum wage, but one of the perks was that Dorian could use the equipment any time he liked. So Dorian had agreed.

One part-time job wasn’t enough, of course. So he looked for another.

He’d never held a job before. His limited experience wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was that no one was willing to hire him because he was a foreigner, lacking the proper work permit.

There was a club near his apartment called the Red Jenny. A strange little place that sold cheap beer and featured live music, mostly alternative, by local bands. Inside the tiny space,. random stuff – black velvet paintings, giant stuffed frogs, wicker birdcages – was strung up and nailed down everywhere, and everything _glowed_ under the black lights. It looked like the Salvation Army had drunk too much day-glo paint and then thrown up.

Dorian had never seen anything like it in Tevinter. He loved it.

He’d frequented it so often that he’d eventually met and started becoming friends with one of the owners, an eccentric blond woman named Sera. One night, after too many cheap beers, Dorian, maudlin, had confessed his financial woes to her. At which point, Sera had offered him a job.

There was a small building attached to the Red Jenny, which Sera and her elusive partner Cole owned. Really not much more than a room. They called it the Beehive. For some reason that Dorian couldn’t quite fathom, they’d turned it into a sort of thrift shop, selling whatever items people donated to them, as well as CDs and the occasional vinyl LP from the bands that played in the club. They’d had a girl working in the Beehive, but she’d recently run off to get married to some guitar player from Starkhaven. The job didn’t pay much, but they needed someone to sit pretty at the counter and sell shit a few nights a week. Plus, all the employees shared the tips, and he could listen to music and drink beer for free.

Dorian was certain he could sit pretty at the counter and sell shit. He accepted immediately.

A month passed.

One day, Dorian looked at his bank account. Even with tips from the Red Jenny, he was barely scraping by. He learned to prepare and love rice and beans a dozen different ways. He learned to buy ramen in bulk whenever it went on sale. He learned how to live without fine wines, trips to the bookstore, and designer shoes.

Still, it wasn’t terrible. At the club, he met all sorts of cute musicians. Unfortunately, most of those boys were straight, so he hadn’t yet managed to procure a date. Which meant that his one splurge was an occasional outing to a gay bar called The Bone Pit in a less-seedy part of Darktown, where he would hook up with, as they said in Orlais, _un bel homme du jour._

Having grown up in Tevinter, Dorian had reconciled himself to one-night stands. Sex between two men was something shameful, only done in secret. Having a real relationship with someone of the same sex – well, it just wasn’t done. Even in the more liberal south, it wasn’t as though it was entirely... _acceptable_ for men to hold hands in public. But, he’d discovered, hooking up was a lot more straightforward. It was enough that he’d go to The Bone Pit, then wait for someone of interest to buy him a drink.

And, invariably, someone would. Dorian was a good-looking man. Some even found his dark hair, curling mustache, and bronze skin exotic. Plus, he was young, and he kept himself in shape. He wasn’t by any means a bodybuilder, but every part of him was finely muscled. Proud of his body, he flaunted it with tight, sometimes revealing clothing. And, as he’d been told that he had such beautiful gray eyes, he sometimes accentuated them with a touch of black eyeliner. Not drag queen extravagant, but just enough to make them pop.

Another month passed.

Okay, he’d been rich and spoiled his whole life. He quickly became tired of rice and beans. He missed fine wines, trips to the bookstore, and designer shoes. And hooking up was only an occasional diversionary release. He wanted _more._

Dorian wasn’t sure how to get more. Not until the night that the two male escorts walked into Red Jenny’s Beehive.

\-----------------------------

He noticed their shoes first.

Normally, feet weren’t the first part of a man that Dorian noticed. But he’d been leaning over the counter, flipping through an old copy of _Interview_ magazine, so his eyes were already downcast. Then, into his field of vision, two pairs of black shoes. One pair was a cap-toe Oxford – an understated classic, so hard to tell the brand. But the other pair was Gucci’s double-G loafers. Easily six-hundred dollars.

“Hey,” came a light tenor. “Is Sera around?”

Dorian’s eyes snapped up. He had a quick, initial impression of them: young, handsome, well-dressed. The man who had spoken to him had strawberry blond hair slicked back, long nose, and warm, honey brown eyes.

Dorian straightened up. When he came to the Red Jenny, he most definitely dressed down, usually wearing a well-fitting long-sleeve t-shirt – plain – over dark blue jeans, and a pair of Doc Martens. His attempt to fit in. Now, though, he felt under dressed. Especially since he was sure that that the other man – in the Oxfords – was completely decked out in Armani.

“Sera? I haven’t seen her in the past hour, but it’s safe to assume that she’s either in the club, or in the office upstairs.”

Gucci regarded him curiously. Then tossed a glance to his companion. “Did you hear that? If that accent isn’t Tevinter, I’ll eat my hat.”

The other man snickered. “You’re not wearing a hat.”

Dorian took a better look at the other man.

Fuck the Maker, he was stunning. Short honey blond hair swept back. Strong jaw. Tall, broad-shouldered, and built. Dorian thought, _Maker, please let this man not be straight._

Oxford’s eyes then flickered to Dorian. Really nice light brown eyes – almost amber – that started at Dorian’s face, then flickered down briefly before sliding back up again. Assessing.

Ignoring his friend’s comment, Gucci turned back to Dorian. “So, Tevinter, right?” he said. “What part of Tevinter? And how long have you been working for Sera? I’ve never seen you here before.”

Before Dorian could respond, Sera strolled in through the back door. In one hand she held a yellow espresso cup, in the other a blue saucer.

Eccentric was possibly the best word to describe Sera. Particularly when it came to her fashion sense. Sera tended to resort to themes. As this week’s theme was Indian, she was wearing a purple sari trimmed in gold. Completing the look, she wore strings of wooden beaded necklaces, as well as a pair of glasses with round, purple lenses.

“Fucking hell, Anders,” she groused. “Leave the help alone. I don’t pay him enough to put up with harassment. He’s been here two months.”

“Oh,” Anders said with a knowing look. “Don’t tell me. High school drop-out? Ran away from home to the big city? One of Sera’s pet projects?”

Dorian’s spine stiffened. “I’ll have you know that I’m twenty-three. _And_ that I graduated with a master’s degree from the University of Minrathous.”

Something shifted slightly in Anders’ gaze. “Oh? What’s your degree in?”

“Literature.”

“Well. That explains why you’re working here.”

Dorian couldn’t decide if Anders were mocking him. Except that the man wasn’t entirely wrong about the uselessness of a liberal arts degree in the real world. “Yes, that,” Dorian said, “and the fact that no one else is willing to pay an illegal Tevinter under the table.”

From the corner of his eye, Dorian noticed that the man’s companion was studying him. Assessing again.

“And what do you do?” Dorian asked Anders.

He’d only asked it to be polite. He certainly hadn’t expected the reaction he got, which involved a lot of swallowed, amused grins and knowing exchanges glanced.

“Anders and Cullen?” Sera said, then laughed. “You’re gonna love this. Two of Kirkwall’s finest rent boys.”

The gorgeous one called Cullen smiled at her. “We prefer ‘male escorts,’ Sera,” he said, with a voice smooth as cream. “Rent boys work on the street corner, giving hand jobs in cars. _We_ have handlers.”

Dorian willed himself not to react. _Escorts... handlers... hand jobs?_ “Ah... that pays well, does it?” When everyone stared at him, he added, “Your shoes cost more than I make in a month.”

Anders glanced down at his shoes briefly. Then lifted his eyes back up to Dorian, making his own assessment. Turning his head, he spoke over his shoulder. “What do you think, Cullen?”

“Well, he is exotic, isn’t he?” Cullen said with a little smirk. “The brothers would eat him up.”

 _He thinks I’m exotic? That’s... promising, isn’t it?_ Except that the man had just admitted that he was a prostitute. Dorian wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Should he care? And – wait. Who were these brothers?

“Can I ask you something?” Anders suddenly asked him. “Are you any good at sucking cock?”

“Hey, now!” Sera protested. “What have I told you about talkin’ ‘bout your business in my business?”

Dorian didn’t quite know how to answer that question. Well, it wasn’t like he’d had any complaints... then again, how was he supposed to judge? “Are you asking me if I’m gay?”

“Gay is wonderful,” Anders said. “Don’t get me wrong. But what I’m really trying to say is... would you blow men for money?”

Sera clanked her saucer and now empty cup down on the counter. “Blowing is still the same as sucking in this context!”

“Would I...?” Dorian blinked a few times. “Is that even legal?”

“No, but if you do go to jail, you’ll be wearing very nice shoes.” Anders reached into his jacket pocket. Snapping open a silver card case, he withdrew a business card, which he handed to Dorian. “Here. Think about it. If you’re interested, just call the number.”

The card simply read _Kirkwall Escort Agency_. There was website listed, as well as phone number, and nothing more.

“Okay, enough of you,” Sera grumbled as she came around the counter. She grabbed first Anders by the arm, then Cullen, steering them both towards the door. “You’re both coming next door for a beer. And you’re gonna leave my honeybee alone from now on.”

\-----------------------------

Once back at his apartment, Dorian opened the refrigerator, considered its contents, then grabbed a beer. A Magic Hat – what had been on sale the last time he’d made a liquor store run.

He didn’t own a bottle opener. However, he’d become quite proficient at popping the caps by angling the bottle against the counter and giving it a well-placed whack. He usually got it on the first or second try.

Sipping the beer, he emptied the pockets of his jeans onto the tiny kitchen table. There were his tips – mostly coins, not bills. And the business card from the escort service.

Dorian sank down in one of the chairs. Swished a sip of the Magic Hat in his mouth before swallowing it as he thoughtfully studied the card.

He wasn’t seriously considering it. He was Dorian Pavus, damn it, son and sole heir to one of the wealthiest men in Eastern Tevinter. A product of generations of careful breeding. The cream of the elite.

Except that he wasn’t really _that_ Dorian Pavus anymore. No, not when his father had found out that he was gay, and then tried to change him by forcing him into one of those weird Andrastian therapy programs. Their motto was: _Pray the gay away_. But it hadn’t worked. All that the therapy had done was make Dorian feel guilty and suicidal, just because he happened to prefer men.

When his father found out that Dorian had quit going to therapy, they’d had a fight of epic proportions. Which ended with Dorian being kicked out of his father’s house. He still felt a prickle of pain at the final words Halward had hurled at his back down the driveway of their mansion in Qarinus.

_Get out – you are no son of mine._

Out of curiosity, he opened a browser on his phone and typed in the web address.

For a site specializing in gay sex, it was surprisingly tasteful. No gratuitous dick pics, or ads for gay porn sites featuring video close-ups of the down and dirty. What he did find was a rather vague description of the agency’s services – _discretion, quality, satisfaction guaranteed –_ which he skimmed over, and then the listings of the escorts.

Each one had a photo – a head shot – and a teaser of a description. Altogether, there were a dozen escorts. A quick scan of their photos revealed that they were all young and relatively good-looking. And that – something that made Cullen’s comment about his being “exotic” more meaningful – except for two exceptions, they were all white boys.

Dorian didn’t linger too long on the photos of the escorts, because his eye was quickly drawn to Cullen.

In his head shot he was smirking. Sultrily. Dorian clicked through the link.

And was rewarded with a picture of the blond man, naked, his back to the viewer, clearly meant to show off his very fine, well-shaped, and well-muscled ass.

It took Dorian a while to stop drooling over the photo and actually read the information.

There was a substantial amount. He was from Ferelden. Six feet tall, 165 pounds – which, judging by the photo, was mostly muscle. Dorian’s age – twenty-three. And – Dorian’s heart silently squealed with joy – he was strictly gay. Men only.

Setting the phone down, Dorian took another swig of beer. Of course, it didn’t matter if the man were strictly gay. It wasn’t as if Dorian was ever going to see him again.

Well, not unless they were working together...

Dorian sighed and shut off the phone. He wasn’t seriously considering this, was he? No, of course not.

Dorian took another slow, long sip of beer. Reconsidered. Wondered what his father would think if Dorian actually _did_ become a male escort. Selling his body to other men. In a sick way, _that_ made the idea somewhat appealing.

That, and the fact that Anders had been wearing Gucci shoes, and Cullen had been wearing a fucking Armani suit.

In the morning, Dorian called the agency.


	2. All the Stars Are Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has an interview with the escort agency.

The interview was in Hightown, the wealthiest district of Kirkwall.

By the time that Dorian had finished getting ready, he came to the realization that walking or taking the bus from Lowtown were no longer options if he wanted to arrive on time. Taking a taxi would have been ideal, but he didn’t actually have enough cash to cover the fare.

He considered his remaining single option. He didn’t like to take advantage of it too often, but... this was actually important.

A short walk later and he arrived at Krem’s Gym.

Krem was behind the counter, a tablet before him, scrolling lazily with a finger. He looked up when the bell over the door jingled, eyeing Dorian with interest.

“Hey, Krem. Ah, would it be all right if I borrowed the Vespa? Just for an hour or two.”

Krem continued to eye Dorian for another moment. Then he fished the keys out of his pocket, tossing them on the counter. Then he reached under the counter for the helmet, which he plunked down next to the keys. “Here,” he said. “Where are you going, dressed like that?”

Dorian stepped forward to scoop up the keys. The keychain was in the form of a charging bull, and surprisingly heavy. _Maker, what is this thing made of? Iron?_ “Job interview. In Hightown.”

Krem smirked. “Isn’t that shirt kind of flashy for a job interview?”

Dorian had been indecisive about what to wear. After all, what does one wear to an interview for a job in an escort agency? In the end, he decided that he’d go with tight and shiny. Which meant his darkest, tightest pants, black boots by Prada, and his sparkly Versace shirt. It being a bright, sunny afternoon, he’d opted to accessorize with his Prada sunglasses – which he’d _almost_ sold to the pawn shop right before Krem had offered him a job.

“Ah. It’s in the entertainment industry, so... I didn’t want to be too subtle.”

Okay. That was vague. But saying that he was going to go interview with a pimp for a job as a high-class male prostitute... well, that just sounded like ten kinds of wrong in his head.

Krem, fortunately, didn’t press. “Good luck, then,” he said. “And just be careful with the scooter. You scratch it, Dorian, you’re paying to fix it.”

“Understood.” Dorian gave him a salute. “Thanks, Krem.”

Traffic in Kirkwall was terrible, but Dorian had years of driving in Minrathous under his belt, so he made it to Hightown without incident.

Once he found the address, he parked at the bottom of the stairs, and looked around the plaza.

He almost wasn’t sure that he even had the right address. The place was a mansion. Surrounded by other mansions. It was possible that most of these places were owned by rich men from Tevinter – Kirkwall had always been a popular place for his rich fellow countrymen to buy a vacation home. For one thing – unlike in Tevinter – it snowed here. From his youth, Dorian recalled one vacation with the Alexius family: snowball fights with his friend Felix, hot cocoa, awkward attempts to ice skate, roasted chestnuts, numb fingers.

Once up the majestic staircase, Dorian drew a deep breath to calm his nerves before he rang the doorbell.

A few moments later, the door was opened by a slender young blond woman dressed in a servant’s livery. “You must be Dorian,” she said. When Dorian responded in the affirmative, the woman beckoned him inside. “They’re expecting you in the office. Follow me, please.”

Dorian followed the young woman through a series of corridors and rooms.

The mansion was opulent, though not nearly as extravagant as his ancestral home. Still, it wasn’t quite what he’d expected. For some reason, he’d expected the headquarters of an escort agency to be more... well, _seedy._ His nerves were almost calm by the time the woman ushered him into a rather large room at the top of some stairs, where there were two men in a heated discussion – one seated at one of the desks, the other standing beside him. As they entered, the men stopped talking, and the seated man rose to his feet.

“This is Dorian, Serah Tethras,” the woman said.

“Thank you, Orana.”

As the servant withdrew, both men regarded Dorian.

“Varric Tethras,” one of the men said, stepping forward to offer Dorian his hand in greeting. As they shook hands, he gestured over his shoulder. “My brother Bartrand. We’re the ones in charge here.”

Dorian considered the brothers. He hoped that lack of height, youth, and looks translated into business acumen. Although, given their surroundings, apparently it did.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Dorian said, gracefully.

“Well, at least he has manners,” Bartrand murmured. “Unlike some of these other boys you find, Varric.”

“Come now, Bartrand,” Varric said. “You know all our boys each have their own... _particular_ talents.”

Bartrand gave his brother a long, skeptical look. Then he tugged thoughtfully on his beard. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Alone in the office, Dorian sat in the offered chair that Varric had fetched for him as he sat back down at his desk. “So, kid,” Varric said, his tone friendly. “Anders said he found you in a club?”

Dorian sat back, trying to look relaxed. “Yes, a place called the Red Jenny. I work there a few nights a week.”

“And, you’re from Tevinter?”

“Yes. Most recently from Minrathous, though I’ve been in Kirkwall for a few months now.”

Varric gave him a long, lingering look. “So... why are you interested in becoming an escort?”

Dorian considered the question. What did this man want him to say? He wasn’t entirely sure. But he decided to go with the honest route. “Well, to be perfectly frank... I could use the money.”

Varric looked visibly relieved. “Good. We get boys through here sometimes who want to get into this work for other reasons. They cause us nothing but trouble.” He paused, giving Dorian another long look. “You are over eighteen? I’ll need to see an ID.”

“Oh. Of course.” Realizing that Varric was waiting to see it now, Dorian dug out his wallet, and handed over his driver’s license. Waiting as Varric looked at it carefully before handing it back.

“Good,” Varric said. “Can I assume that you’ve never done anything in this line of work before?”

Honesty seemed to be serving him well, so Dorian decided to stick with it. “No, I haven’t. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Varric replied smoothly. “What we would do is assign you to a mentor. One of the other escorts who has a bit of experience. He’d go out with you on a few jobs. This way, we can see if you’re a right fit for us, and if we’re a right fit for you. Plus, it would keep you out of any... unpleasant situations. Mind you – those are rare, but they do happen.”

“I see.”

Varric nodded to himself. “Okay, then. Now – if you don’t mind, I would like to see what you have to offer. Would you mind taking off your shirt?”

Was that weird? Dorian supposed it only made sense. “Not at all. Should I... stand up?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Dorian stood up. Unbuttoned his shirt and set it down on the chair. Turned around in a circle when Varric instructed him to.

Varric whistled in appreciation. “You work out,” he said. A statement of the obvious. “Have you seen our website?”

“I have.”

“You can put your shirt back on,” Varric said. “If you come work for us, we’ll want to put some pictures of you up on the website. Preferably without a shirt on – we’d rather show you off.” He watched as Dorian slipped his shirt back on. “Of course, you’re welcome to show off more, if you like. Boys who do full frontal tend to get more hits. But that’s entirely up to you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Dorian wasn’t entirely sure that he was comfortable revealing everything to the world. “I’d have to think about it.”

“Fair enough.”

Dorian sank back down into the chair as he finished buttoning up his shirt.

“Now, from what Anders told me, you know that most of our clientele are men,” Varric said. “I’m going on the assumption that you’re fine with servicing men. But some of our clientele are women. Would you go with women?”

Dorian loved women. Women were marvelous creatures. Some of his best friends in Tevinter had been female. But he’d never wanted to have any carnal knowledge of the so-called fairer sex. “No,” he admitted. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Varric said, much to Dorian’s relief. “Some of the other boys do. And most of our clients _are_ men, so there’s plenty of work.”

Okay. As far as Dorian could tell, the interview was going well. And this Varric Tethras seemed like a decent man – for a pimp. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

Varric gave him another one of those long looks. Then he smiled. “All right, then. Do you have any questions?”

Maker... this. It was almost surreal. “Only about a thousand.”

That caused a smile to quirk up the other man’s face. “Well, I’ll let you talk to one of the other boys – he can give you an overview of what it’s like and answer your questions. Sound good?”

Dorian paused, digesting what that meant. “You mean... that’s it? I’m hired?”

A soft laugh escaped him. “You know, I do have eyes.”

Well... Dorian wasn’t sure what he’d expected, exactly. Though he wasn’t oblivious to his own charms. “Ah, in that case... when do I start?”

“Ah. Well.” Varric straightened in his chair, all business now. “First you’ll need to get checked out. Just to make sure you’re clean. There’s a doctor we use, we’ll set you up with an appointment.”

Dorian felt his heart sink a bit. He was so very broke, and doctors were expensive. And – being an illegal immigrant – it wasn’t like he had any health insurance. “I... oh.”

Varric, however, sensed his hesitation and understood it. “Don’t worry – the company pays for that.”

_Thank the Maker._ “Ah. I see. Yes, that does seem reasonable.”

Varric smiled again. “All right then, Sparkles. I’ll set that up for you. In the meanwhile, let me set you up with one of the boys, and he’ll let you know what to expect.”

\---------------------------------

Varric did set him up with one of the other escorts.

To Dorian’s surprise and delight, it was the beautiful blond man he’d met at Red Jenny’s.

Cullen Rutherford.

Today the man was dressed more causally. He wore a fitted white button-down shirt, open a few buttons to show off his long throat, a tease of collarbones, and a hint of soft blond hair on his chest. Belted jeans that fit perfectly, and a pair of square-toed black boots.

Maker, the man was beautiful. And when he smiled at Dorian, he was stunning.

“I don’t know if I should welcome you to the dark side of Kirkwall, or say a prayer for the soul you’re about to lose,” Cullen said, the smile still playing about his lips.

“Curly,” Varric said paternally. “You’re supposed to reassure him, not scare him off before he even begins.”

“Don’t worry,” Dorian said smoothly. “I’m sure the dark side has its good points.”

Cullen gave him a little look of approval. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to some of the others, then we can talk.”

Dorian trailed after him, out of the office and down the corridor. “Curly?”

Honey brown eyes flicked over to him. Along with a small smile. “Oh, that,” he said. “Once I... let’s say I shouldn’t have listened to a new stylist. She gave me a really bad perm. It grew out quickly, but – thanks to our fearless leader – its legacy lives on.”

Dorian took a moment to admire Cullen’s hair. It was such a pretty blond color. Like... flax. And arranged so perfectly, combed back and gelled into place.

He was nearly overcome with the urge to mess it up by running his fingers through it.

Fortunately, though, before he could embarrass himself, they took a turn and stepped into what appeared to be a large living room. Tasteful black-and-white prints of half-naked men adorned the walls. In one corner sat an unused pool table; in another a mini-bar, complete with a sink and a full-sized refrigerator. And spread over a number of plush chairs and couches, a half-dozen young, well-dressed men lounged.

All eyes turned to them.

“Hey guys,” Cullen said. “This is Dorian. He’ll be working with us.”

All of the boys gave him some form of greeting from a simple nod of acknowledgment to a heartfelt hello. Then Cullen went around the room introducing them all. Dorian did his best to attach each name to its owner.

There was Garrett – who went by his surname, Hawke. The epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Sprawled easily across the couch as if he owned the place. With a spark of cunning in his eyes, as blue and lucid as they sky.

There was Carver. Hawke’s brother. The family resemblance was obvious: the same dark hair, blue eyes, and chiseled good looks. Dorian couldn’t help but admire the man’s broad shoulders, and the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms.

Next, Cullen introduced him to Nathaniel – a rather handsome man with long, dark hair worn pulled back and pretty blue eyes. Alistair – a shy, but gorgeous blond with dark eyes with the sweetest smile he’d seen in a long time. Alain – one of the dark-skinned boys that Dorian had noted on the website, who, Cullen revealed, was leaving the agency, and thus why the Tethras brothers had been so eager to hire Dorian as a replacement. And finally, Zevran, all slender body, long blond hair, sexy Antivan accent, and laughing light brown eyes.

“You’re the one from Tevinter, yes?” Zevran said in that luscious, accented voice, his gaze practically devouring Dorian. “Where in Tevinter? How long have you been in Kirkwall? You must find it terribly dull. Do you have a girlfriend stashed away somewhere? Or... a boyfriend?”

The man called Hawke snorted a laugh. “Don’t mind Zev,” he told Dorian. “He’s very bad at minding his own business.”

“I am merely curious,” Zevran murmured in his own defense. Cocking his head, he studied Dorian again. “You have that ‘new boy’ look about you. I take it you’ve never worked in the trade before?”

“No,” Dorian said. “But – how hard can it be? It’s just sex, right?”

There was a quick exchange of glances between the men in the room before – to Dorian’s mortification – they all burst out laughing.

“Trust me,” Zevran drawled with a smug little smirk. “It’s still work. You’ll see.”

Cullen eyed Dorian’s expression with a little sympathy. “There will be time later to get to know everyone,” he said. “Come with me and I’ll give you the rundown of how things work.”

Dorian’s fingers toyed unconsciously with his collar. “That sounds perfect.”

Cullen led him to the mini-bar in the back corner. Dorian sat on one of the red leather stools, and accepted Cullen’s offer of a cappuccino. Watched Cullen’s hands as he expertly worked the espresso machine – packing in the espresso, lining up two cups, flipping the switch – then steamed the milk, the throaty gurgle of the steaming wand temporarily drowning out the soft buzz of the conversation behind them.

Dorian thanked him as the blond set the cups down on the bar between them, then tapped the base of the milk pitcher against the bar before slowly pouring the milk into the cups with a wiggling motion. Then he did a little flourish with the milk pitcher at the end, resulting in the familiar design of creamy white heart in a sea of dark brown.

“You’ve done this before,” Dorian noted, admiring Cullen’s handiwork before he reached for the nearby sugar bowl.

Cullen smiled. “Before I met the brothers, I used to work as a barista. In a place called the Gallows.”

“That... sounds quite morbid, actually.”

The blond laughed softly. “Not quite as bad as the bar we sometimes frequent. That’s called the Hanged Man.”

Dorian knew of the place, as it wasn’t that far from his apartment. “I’ve walked by it,” he admitted. “Though I’ve never actually gone in.”

“That’s probably the _safest_ option.”

Dorian lifted his cup and took a sip. Rich, dark, sugary and creamy – ten times better than the cheap coffee he usually drank at home. Lowered the cup. Then realized that Cullen was staring at his lips.

Cullen’s eyes slid back up. With a finger, he vaguely gestured at his own mouth. “You have a little foam, uh... here.”

Dorian reached for a napkin from the nearby holder, then wiped his mouth with it. “Hazard of having a mustache. You’ve no idea how much stuff gets stuck up in it.”

Cullen rubbed at the light stubble on his own jaw. It didn’t escape Dorian’s notice when Cullen’s gaze dropped again, tracing over his lips.

_Good,_ Dorian thought. _You should look at my mouth, and think of all the wonderfully dirty things I could do to you with it._

“So,” Cullen said as he dragged his gaze away from Dorian’s lips. “I don’t suppose Varric told you anything about how this works?”

“Not really, no.”

Cullen lightly rested both his hands on the counter, expression more business-like, tone brusque. “So the brothers handle the arrangements. In general, an agreement is made up front when a client books an appointment, so you’ll usually know what to expect. And usually, the client will request a specific escort.” Cullen paused, lifting a hand and letting it fall lightly on his cup, elegant finger tracing its sticky rim. “House rules are no bareback, no blood play, no scat. Beyond that, we take just about any request. Of course, you’re not obliged to do anything you don’t want to.”

“That’s reassuring,” Dorian murmured when Cullen paused again.

Cullen smiled slightly. “Really, that’s basically it,” he said. “Perhaps I could answer some of your questions?”

Dorian still had at least a dozen. “So, these clients... what do they usually ask for?”

Cullen became thoughtful. “Some just want straight up sex. A lot of them just want oral.” He paused again. “Really, we get all sorts of requests. For a while I had one client who didn’t like dining alone, so about once a week I’d accompany him to a nice restaurant.” Cullen smiled. “Some men want to have sex while literally hanging from the chandelier. Or they want to lick your feet. There’s a surprising amount of... creativity in people’s kinks.”

“I see.”

Cullen laughed softly at the expression on Dorian’s face. “Am I scaring you off yet?”

“What? Oh, no. Not yet.”

“Oh,” Cullen said, reaching into his back pocket from his wallet. From it, he pulled out what, at first glance, looked like a credit card. “The brothers wanted to do something to make us stand out from the other agencies – there are two others in Kirkwall, in case you were wondering – so they came up with VIP cards. We give them out to special clients – usually regulars – who then get discounts and other perks.” Cullen returned the card to his wallet. “Actually, we’ve become well-known for this, and the gold card is actually a highly-prized commodity.”

“That does make sense, from a business point of view.”

“Any other questions?”

Dorian paused. Thought for a moment. “That Zevran... is he the only twink?”

Cullen laughed again. “We have two twinks right now. And those bastards make twice as much as we do.” Then he smiled, somewhat wryly. “Whatever you do, though, when you meet Fenris... I don’t recommend actually calling him a twink to his face. Unless you’d enjoy getting your heart ripped out of your chest.”

 


	3. Twinkling, Twinkling, Twinkling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his first job with his mentor Cullen.

Less than a week later, Dorian found himself sitting in Hightown again, with a clean bill of health from the doctor he’d been sent to see, while Varric tapped on the keyboard of his desktop.

“I hope you’re not afraid of doctors, Sparkles,” Varric said as he peered at Dorian over the rims of his reading glasses. “We require that all the boys who work here are checked out every six weeks. As a precautionary measure.” Varric paused, considering him for a moment. “Curly did tell you that we highly discourage riding bareback, right?”

In Dorian’s affairs, he’d always chosen being safe over being sorry. Condoms were generally non-negotiable. He’d only barebacked with one man, and only after they’d been having sex together for over two months, at the point where Dorian trusted him enough to do so. “Yes, he did mention that.”

“Good,” Varric said, and turned his attention back to the computer. Opened up an editing program in order to build Dorian’s new profile on the website. “Okay. So I hope you’re in the mood for a frank discussion, because this is going to get real personal.”

Dorian decided that an attempt at humor would not be unwelcome. “Well, my favorite subject is me, so... please. Fire away.”

Varric’s lips twitched in amusement. “Okay. Let’s start with the basics. Height?”

“Six feet.”

Varric typed in the information as Dorian spoke. “Weight?”

“About 160.”

“Okay... hair color... dark brown. Eye color...” Varric paused to confirm. “Gray?”

“That works. Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s see.... build... we’ll say muscular. Body hair... we’ll say smooth. Any piercings or tattoos?”

Dorian had toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo – perhaps a snake coiling around his bicep and down his arm, or maybe something more abstract – but he hadn’t gone through with it yet. “No to both.”

Varric continued to tap on the keys. “You smoke?”

 _Gross._ “Maker, no.”

“Drink?”

“Socially.”

Varric paused, studying Dorian over his glasses again. “Drugs?”

“No, not really my thing.”

Varric made a thoughtful grunt as he turned back to his computer. “Every now and then, we get clients who want boys for parties. Usually involving drinking and drugs. Personally, I don’t care what you boys do, as long as you know that it’s your choice.”

“Understood.”

Varric made another little grunt. “All right then. How big is it?”

Dorian actually paused. “Oh,” he finally said. “It’s, ah, seven and a half inches.”

Varric turned, giving Dorian a skeptical look.

“What?” Dorian protested, affronted. “Would you like to measure it?”

“No, no. I believe you.” He typed in the number. “Girth – thin, average, or thick?”

Maker, his new boss hadn’t been joking when he’d said the conversation was going to get personal. “Average, I suppose.”

“Cut or uncut?”

Circumcision wasn’t a popular practice in Tevinyter, unlike in the south. “Uncut.”

“Mmm hmm. Oh, this one’s important. Top, bottom, or versatile?”

Dorian thought. In truth, he rather enjoyed being on the bottom. If a man was a decent top, he could take Dorian to the greatest heights of pleasure. But he liked, too, that sense of power that could be had at dominating another man – being in control, having him submit.

Except the question wasn’t really about what Dorian liked. It was about what he’d do for money. Briefly, he contemplated how he’d feel about letting strangers pay to use his ass. And decided that it wasn’t really so different. “Versatile.”

Did Varric seem just a tad bit pleased by his answer? “Okay. Oral – giving, receiving, both?”

Dorian continued to answer Varric’s questions. _Anal play? Toys? Role playing? Fisting? Water sports? BDSM?_ Although to the latter he gave Dorian a paternal look, adding, “Oh, we don’t recommend letting anyone tie you up – sometimes people think if they’re paying for a service, that gives them the right to do whatever they want. Not worth the risk.”

Once a man had tied Dorian to the bedposts using silk scarves – just for a bit of fun. “I can’t say that I’m very experienced in that arena.”

“Then you’ll probably want to stay away from those sorts of jobs.” Varric tapped on the keys again briefly. “Kissing?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You saved _that_ one for last?”

Varric grinned at him. “Oh, we’re not even close to being done, Sparkles. By the time I’m finished with my questions, I’ll know what side of your ass the doctor slapped when you were born.”

\---------------------------

Only two days passed before Dorian went on his first job with his mentor.

He’d just been finishing up his shift at Krem’s gym when he received the call from Varric.

“Hey, Sparkles. There’s a job we thought you’d be good for. Can you meet Cullen in about an hour?”

“In Hightown, you mean?”

“Yeah, here at the mansion. If you can’t make it, though, don’t worry about it.”

Dorian automatically glanced at his wrist, then cursed himself silently as he remembered that he’d sold the watch he usually wore there. “In an hour?” he repeated. “Well, yes. I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Varric said, sounding both pleased and relieved. “I’ll let the client know you’re coming. Oh, and good luck.”

Dorian mumbled a thanks. Then he glanced down at himself. When working at the gym, he usually just wore his gym clothes, since Krem didn’t mind if he used the equipment during slow times. He was trying to determine if he’d have enough time to go home and change before catching the bus that would bring him to Hightown on time, when Krem slid the iron bull keychain across the counter to him. When Dorian just blinked at him, Krem smiled.

“You need to get to Hightown for your other job in an hour,” he said. “But you gotta change, right? Might as well borrow the Vespa.”

Dorian wasn’t quite sure how to react. “I’d appreciate that. Ah.... thank you.”

Strange how whenever anyone showed Dorian some kindness, he just assumed that they _wanted_ something from him. Though, to be fair, growing up in Tevinter as the heir to one of its wealthiest families, he was accustomed to other people’s greed – women hoped to marry him, and men either just wanted his body or to be showered with expensive gifts. Usually both.

He had no money anymore, though. As for Krem... was Krem perhaps _interested_ in him? Dorian had no idea if Krem were even gay. Briefly he wondered what it would be like to date someone like him. Krem was the first transman he’d met, so he’d never really thought about it before.

“Don’t worry about it,” Krem said. “But you scratch it up, Dorian, you ain’t just fixing it, you’re buying me a new one.”

“Understood,” Dorian said gravely.

Having the Vespa at his disposal meant that Dorian had a little extra time to fret about what to wear. What did one wear to go get fucked by a stranger for money? And – if he had actually shown up in sweats and a tee, would the client have found him undesirable and sent him away?

In the end he decided to wear something he was comfortable in, and knew looked good: a crisp, clean white button shirt under a gray wool jacket, black slacks, and his Prada ankle boots.

When he pulled up in front of the mansion five minutes early, he found Cullen sitting on the steps, already waiting for him. As Dorian pulled off the helmet, Cullen stood up and approached him.

The blond smiled. “You can just leave the scooter here,” he said. “The place we’re going isn’t far. Just a few blocks. I figured we could talk while we walked.”

Dorian felt a strange little flutter as Cullen smiled at him. _Keep it together, Dorian Pavus,_ he told himself. Taking his time, he dismounted the Vespa, then secured the helmet with the locking hook. “Are most of the jobs in Hightown?”

“Yes. Most of the money is here,” Cullen said. “Of course, we do get jobs in other places. Even in Darktown, but most of the time it will be in Hightown. Which is why you’ll usually find at least a few of the guys hanging out in the lounge.” Cullen smiled again. “Shall we go?”

Dorian resisted the urge to check his hair in the Vespa’s mirror. “Certainly. I could use an adventure.”

Cullen laughed softly. “Follow me, then.”

 _I made him laugh._ Noting that Cullen’s outfit was not so different than his, he was also secretly relieved he’d decided to wear something semi-formal.

They started walking away from the mansion. “Let me tell you a bit about the job,” Cullen said as he led the way. “The man we’re going to see is a regular client of ours. Really, I don’t think you could have asked for a better client the first time. He’s easy. Never causes any trouble.”

That was somewhat of a relief. Except, at the same time, it was somewhat alarming. “Which means that sometimes there’s trouble.”

“Ah.” Cullen glanced away, running a hand through his golden hair. Maker, how Dorian wished that it was _his_ hand. “I’ll be honest with you. Sometimes... well, bad things happen. The brothers do their best to screen out any potential troublemakers, but....” He trailed off with a shrug. “Occasionally a bad element slips through.”

Dorian bit his lip in thought. “Define _bad things.”_

“Well,” Cullen said, somewhat reluctantly, “there’s really no point in my sugar-coating it. Mind you, nothing like this has happened in a long time. Years. But, worst case scenario... some boys have been beaten. Bad enough to end up in the hospital. Or cut – that happened at least twice. And a few have been the unwilling participants in a gang-bang.”

He meant raped. _Gang raped._ He had to swallow once to get his voice to work. “And... you said this hasn’t happened in years?”

“Not while I’ve been working for the brothers, and that’s been... two years?” Cullen paused, thinking. “Almost two and a half years,” he corrected himself. Then his eyes fixed intensely on Dorian’s face. “But if you’re ever in a situation where anything gets too weird... even if it just doesn’t feel right... get the fuck out. No one’s going to be mad at you if you bail with a reason. Or – if getting out isn’t really an option – lock yourself in the bathroom and call Varric. The brothers will send someone to get you.”

“I see,” Dorian said slowly.

Cullen studied him for a moment, then smiled again. “Still not scared off?”

“What? Oh, no,” he said quickly. “Just... perhaps a bit nervous.”

Dorian wasn’t sure why he’d said that. In truth, admitting anything that implied weakness was not like him. Something his father had instilled in him from an early age.

But Cullen just smiled at him warmly. “That’s normal. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Then he stopped in front of a large apartment complex of gray stone. “This is it. I will ask you, though... are you sure you want to go through with this? Last chance to change your mind.”

Dorian thought about money. About the finer things in life that he missed. And he briefly thought of his father telling him how homosexuality was a sin. That only men who were _weak_ gave into temptation. “Well, let’s not keep the poor man waiting for the delicious taste of Dorian Pavus he’s about to receive.”

Cullen’s smile curled up even more, as amusement twinkled in his eyes. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

They made their way through a rather posh lobby and into the elevator. Cullen jabbed a button, then they rode up to the fifth floor. In a few moments, they were being admitted into a luxury apartment by an older man.

“Oh, it’s you, Cullen,” he said with genuine pleasure in his voice. “And – who’s this?”

Hungry eyes roamed over Dorian, as if the man were a child and Dorian one of those giant rainbow lollipops in the window of a candy store. Staring back, Dorian noted that he was probably somewhere in his forties, possessing a shrewd gaze below thick eyebrows, close-cropped dark hair, and a somewhat slender build.

“Hello, Roderick,” Cullen said. “This is Dorian. He’s new, so he’s going to be following me around. To learn the ropes.”

“Wonderful!” Roderick exclaimed. Still eyeing Dorian, he asked, “I don’t suppose you know anything about fashion?”

Dorian smiled politely. “My good man, you couldn’t have asked for anyone more knowledgeable on that subject.”

Roderick lit up. “In that case, let’s get started!” Stepping back, he gestured enthusiastically to the younger men. “Come, come!”

Dorian and Cullen followed Roderick through a well-furnished and tastefully decorated living room, through a corridor and into the master bedroom. Where Roderick crossed over to a large wardrobe on one side of the room and, with a grand flourish, threw the doors open, revealing an interior stuffed to bursting with clothing.

Women’s clothing.

Dorian was vaguely baffled until Roderick turned to him with a grin. “Well, come on! Don’t be shy! Help me pick out something fabulous!”

As Roderick took Dorian’s arm to bodily drag him over to the wardrobe, Dorian could have sworn that Cullen’s eyes were actually _laughing_ at him.

Whatever Dorian had expected from his first job as a male escort, it certainly hadn’t been this. Still a bit flabbergasted, he watched as Roderick started riffling through the wardrobe, making little comments to himself, such as _Maybe this? No. Perhaps that one? With the sequins? Hmm..._

Then he recalled just exactly _what_ he was doing here. The man was paying him for his time. And it was _his_ job to make the client happy. It didn’t matter if Dorian thought it silly, or was bored senseless, or was having a terrible time. What he thought didn’t _matter._

Except... he knew that hardly anyone liked working. He certainly would have preferred not to sell his soul for Top Ramen. But while at the gym or the Beehive, Dorian always found ways to keep his mind occupied. To have a good time.

Why should this be any different?

With an assessing eye, he let his gaze sweep over Roderick’s frame. As he’d noted, the man was slender. Which meant that he’d look good in most anything. “Do you have anything by Carolina Herrera?” Dorian asked suddenly.

Roderick looked at him blankly for a moment. Then a smile unfolded across his lips. “I do. Yes. From the 2013 collection. Wait...let me find it...”

Once Dorian had decided to turn this experience into a game, he started having a wonderful time.

From his seat on the edge of the bed, Cullen watched, amused, as Roderick found the requested article of clothing. Then watched as Dorian helped Roderick into the dress – red flowing silk, with three-quarters sleeves, it plunged at the neckline and cinched at the waist with a bow, to then fall straight down to the floor. Next, Roderick withdrew a large make-up kit from the bottom of the wardrobe. As he sat at the vanity, Dorian dabbed and daubed the sable brushes into the various pots and palettes, applying the make-up to the man’s face. All the while, the two men chattered on as if they’d been best friends forever. Finally, the look was completed with some elegant bracelets, earrings and a smooth black teardrop pendant on a gold chain.

Roderick stood before the glass, admiring Dorian’s handiwork. “Oh, that’s _perfect,”_ he cooed, turning this way and that. Then his eyes, limpid, flicked over to Dorian. “Am I pretty?”

Despite Dorian’s best efforts to transform him... well, given Roderick’s heavily masculine features, there was only so much well-applied make-up could _do._ He didn’t look _pretty_ by any stretch of the imagination – he looked like a man in a dress.

Still, Dorian intuited his role in this scenario. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Roderick beamed at him. Then, turning, he smiled sultrily as he let one hand trail down the neckline of his dress. Then, reaching down with that hand, he pulled up the skirt until he revealed the red lacy panties he wore beneath. Then, with the other hand, he reached into the panties and withdrew his erect cock.

“Oh, dear,” Roderick murmured. “Whatever are we going to do about this?”

 _And... there it is,_ Dorian thought. Mustering up every scrap of acting skill, he approached the man with a coy smile, murmuring, “That depends... what do you _want_ me to do about it?”

It turned out that what the man wanted was for Dorian to jack him off. As Roderick stood before the mirror, Dorian stood beside him and reached for the man’s cock. Silently judged it. Short and stubby, but he’d seen smaller. Then, at Roderick’s encouragement, Dorian began to pump.

Jacking this man off was, without doubt, the least interesting part of the experience for Dorian. He truly loved cock – whether he was touching, sucking, or being fucked by it. But he felt zero attraction to Roderick.

Fortunately, after only a few minutes of Dorian’s ministrations, Roderick came with a whimper, seed spilling to the floor between his Manolo Blahnik red suede pumps.

Done, they were perfunctorily dismissed, though, at the door, Roderick slipped a crisp fifty dollar bill as a tip into Dorian’s hand.

A few minutes later, Cullen and Dorian were out on the sidewalk.

As they walked, Dorian noted that Cullen was regarding him with wry amusement. “Well?” the blond prompted. “What did you think?”

Dorian barked a little laugh. “I’m not sure there are adequate words to describe that,” he admitted. “For some reason, I’d imagined that I’d be wearing fewer clothes in that scenario. It was... well, it was rather weird, really.”

Cullen chuckled. “It will probably be weirder when I tell you that Roderick used to be a priest in the Chantry.”

Surprise raised Dorian’s brows. “Really? A priest?” Then he hummed. “Now I just feel like I missed a chance to confess my sins.”

Cullen chuckled in appreciation again. “Why? Do you have a lot of sins you need to confess?”

 _Not as many as I’d like to, if we count the sins I’d like to commit with you,_ Dorian thought. But he didn’t say this. “Well, my mother used to collect eggs. Not real ones from chickens, of course. Those Faberge ones. I broke one once. Blamed it on one of the servants. It’s been a terrible burden that I’ve been carrying around for all these years.”

“Hmm,” Cullen murmured. “That is a serious offense. I’m not sure the Maker can forgive you.”

That sly little smirk – Maker, it was so sexy. Whatever quip Dorian had been about to say instantly fled like a vandal spotted by the cops.

Then Cullen gave Dorian a curious look. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting... I didn’t realize you were an expert on putting on make-up.”

Dorian just knew what he was thinking. Yes, there was drag in Tevinter, but Dorian wasn’t quite queen enough for that. “Oh. Just a skill I picked up. At the University. I thought it would be fun to involved in the theater.”

“So, you’re an actor, then?”

“No, not really. I mean, just bit parts. I was mostly behind the scenes – doing lighting, arranging the sets... and helping with the make-up.”

At that point, they’d arrived back at Dorian’s scooter. Where Cullen stopped, then jerked his head towards the Tethras mansion. “You want to come up for a coffee?”

Maker, Dorian wanted nothing more. He almost said yes. But then remembered. “I’d love to, but... this isn’t my Vespa. I borrowed it from a friend, so...”

“Ah,” Cullen said. “Of course.” He smiled slightly. “Well, perhaps next time then.”

“Absolutely,” Dorian agreed.

Cullen gave him a little salute, then turned and walked towards the house.

As Dorian watched Cullen go, he dug the key to the scooter out of his pocket with a sigh.

_Next time, I am definitely taking the bus._

 


	4. And Fluttering About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his second job with his mentor.

The call from Varric about Dorian’s second job came the very next afternoon.

Since Dorian wasn’t scheduled to work at either of his jobs, he’d been lounging around his apartment in a pair of pajama bottoms and an old jersey with his alma mater’s insignia, drinking coffee while reading, propped up with pillows in his bed. And since he wasn’t doing anything else, he readily agreed to meet Cullen at the mansion later.

Dorian had plenty of time to complete all necessary grooming, get dressed and catch the bus to Hightown. The water in the apartment was hot, so Dorian took a leisurely shower, basking in the feel of the steamy spray jetting down against the back of his neck, thinking about yesterday.

 _Cullen Rutherford... Cullen Rutherford..._ Maker, the man was hot. And he even seemed.... well, _nice._ For a while, Dorian pondered over the etiquette of sleeping with a co-worker. Normally, such a thing was discouraged by the management, but – given the nature of the business – would anyone really care?

Still, he wasn’t certain if Cullen would welcome a seduction. Yes, the man was friendly, but he hadn’t really given Dorian any clear sign of interest. And – if Dorian were going to be perfectly honest with himself – he wasn’t very good at playing the role of the pursuer. Even here in the Free Marches, given his looks, Dorian was usually the one being pursued.

Clean-shaven, well-dressed, Dorian grabbed his keys, his cell phone and his wallet and headed out of the apartment.

Two buses and a short walk later, he arrived to find Cullen once again waiting for him outside the mansion, this time sitting on the nearby bench.

Cullen smiled in lieu of a greeting. “No Vespa today?”

“What?” Dorian returned with his own smile. “And give up the joys of public transportation completely? Perish the thought.”

Cullen stood, straightening his jacket and giving his pants a quick hitch. “With all the parking regulations, Kirkwall really isn’t the easiest place to own a car,” he said. “And finding a cab after midnight? Practically impossible. So the bus may be the best option.”

Dorian decided not to complain about the state of Lowtown’s buses – crowded, filthy, and they smelled funny. Like boiled cabbages and armpits. “Still – I rather miss driving my Porsche nine-eleven.”

Cullen quirked an eyebrow at him. Then chuckled softly. “Yes, that would be nice,” he said. “Well, we should probably go or we’ll be late.”

By Cullen’s reaction, it was obvious that he hadn’t believed Dorian about the car. _And why should he?_ The Porsche had been a present from his father for his high school graduation. A hardtop, red convertible. So very sexy. Dorian realized now that he didn’t even know what that car had cost beyond _a lot._ Unfortunately, his father hadn’t let him take it – _his own car!_ – when he’d kicked Dorian out.

“Lead on,” Dorian agreed.

“It’s actually just around the block,” Cullen revealed as they started walking. “So, this guy is another one of our regulars.”

“After the last regular, I’m not sure if I feel very reassured by that.”

“Ah,” Cullen said, looking a little bit abashed. “Varric’s orders, I’m afraid. He wanted to find out how you’d react not knowing. Strange things happen all the time, so... sometimes you have to roll with it.”

“If I’d rolled any faster, I probably would have gotten a speeding ticket.”

This time, Cullen smiled at Dorian’s quip. “At any rate, I know this client. Nothing weird, I assure you. Most likely, he’ll just want a blowjob.” Cullen paused. “Oh, I didn’t mention this before, but it’s completely acceptable to ask someone to wash first if their hygiene isn’t up to standard.”

_Not obliged to suck dirty cock? Good to know._

Cullen’s eyes slid sidelong to meet his. “Ah. I should warn you. This client – he’ll want to unload on your face.”

He wouldn’t be the first man who’d come on Dorian’s beautiful face. Dorian smiled slyly. “Well, fortunately they do say that it’s quite good for the skin.”

Cullen laughed softly, then led Dorian into another rather posh apartment building.

This time, Dorian felt slightly less apprehensive as Cullen rang the bell.

An older man opened the door. Dorian couldn’t quite judge how old he was, as his face was half hidden by an impressively long and shaggy beard. He was a big man, broad of shoulder and barrel-chested, with intensely blue eyes below a heavy brow, dark hair, glossy and damp, combed back and falling to his shoulders. He looked like the kind of man who would not only be able, but also willing, to throw a cow at someone who offended him.

“Hello, Gordon,” Cullen said.

Gordon eyed both of them for a moment. “What is this? Two-for-the-price-of-one day?”

“This is Dorian,” Cullen said with an indicating nod. “He’s new, so I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“New boy, eh?” Gordon stroked thoughtfully at his beard. “Not that he’s something to complain about, but I did ask for someone else.”

“Oh?” Cullen said, looking a bit taken aback, though he recovered quickly. “Unfortunately, our boss neglected to mention that.”

A bit chagrined, the big man crossed his arms. “Seems to me like that’s no way to run a business.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Cullen agreed readily. He cocked his head slightly. “Well, if we did make it a two-for-one... would that be satisfactory?”

Blue eyes swept over first Dorian, then Cullen. “Fine,” he said, opening the door wider. “We have a deal.”

 _Two for one?_ Dorian wondered exactly what that meant as he trailed behind Cullen into the apartment, where they stopped in a living room filled with dark wood and leather furniture. Catching his eye was a display of antique swords hung on the wall above the leather sofa.

Gordon tilted his head towards one of the leather armchairs. “Have a seat... what’s your name again?”

“Cullen,” the blond replied, already moving to fulfill the man’s request.

As Cullen settled down into the chair, the big man turned to Dorian. Placed a hand on Dorian’s neck, right above the shoulder. Let it slide casually down Dorian’s chest. “How old are you, boy?”

Dorian let a slip of a smile appear on his lips. “Twenty-three.”

Gordon grunted thoughtfully as his hand slid lower. “Twenty-three, eh?” he murmured. “Just a kid. You got your whole life in front of you.” As his hand stopped at Dorian’s belt, he gave the younger man a rueful smile. “You’re probably not interested in the ramblings of an old man.”

Dorian gave him a better, brighter smile. “You’re not that old.”

Gordon chuckled – a dry, almost dark thing. “Nice of you to say,” he said. “But I won’t waste your time. So let’s get on with it.”

“Certainly,” Dorian murmured. “What would you like me to do?”

Gordon’s hand dropped from Dorian’s belt. Slipped to his own, popping the button before sliding down the zipper. “On your knees, boy,” he said. Then tossed a glance at the blond in the chair. “As for you, get your cock out. Eyes on us while you touch yourself.”

 _So demanding!_ At least that’s what Dorian would have said to a would-be lover in another life. But he understood his role in this scenario perfectly well. Almost demurely, he dropped down to his knees, though his attention was decidedly split to the business before him, and to the beautiful blond who was now unbuckling his belt.

In truth, Dorian was rather interested to see just what, exactly, Cullen was packing in his pants. Except that Cullen was taking his time – slowly undoing his belt, button, then zipper before dipping a pale hand inside his underwear – that Dorian didn’t actually get a glimpse of the blond’s attributes, as his attention was required elsewhere. More specifically, to the member that the man in front of him had just withdrawn from his own pants.

Dorian was presented with a sizable cock. Even only half engorged, it was notable in both length and girth. Unkindly, he thought that such an impressive dick was wasted on an old man, though he supposed the man must have been quite popular when he was young.

A fleeting thought only. Dorian reached out to take the man in hand. Gave him a few preliminary strokes from the base to the tip, maintaining eye contact all the while, before leaning forward to use his mouth.

Dorian knew he was good at this. It was something he usually enjoyed doing, and took pride in all the praise that had been lavished upon him for his skills.

Still stroking with his hand, Dorian let his lips graze over the man’s cock. He’d sort of forgotten Cullen’s earlier remark about hygiene, so he was glad that all he could smell was warm skin and soap.

As he continued to tease with his lips, the cock he was stroking grew harder and even larger. Then he elicited a small noise of approval from Gordon as he tucked his lips over his teeth and took the older man’s cock in his mouth, and began to lightly suck his way, inch by inch, down the shaft.

A hand fell on his head, fingers twining lightly into his hair as he began to bob up and down. Only once Dorian had established a steady rhythm did he tilt his head slightly, his gaze sliding to the right towards the blond man in the chair.

Cullen was leaning back in the chair, pants open, legs sprawled out. As instructed, he was watching them as he casually stroked himself. Dorian’s angle was a little awkward, but he was still able to clearly see Cullen’s hand moving up and down, giving the other men quite the show.

 _Maker, he’s hard_ , Dorian realized. Watching Cullen touch himself like that – knowing that he was getting off on the sight of Dorian sucking off another man – sent a tingle of excitement shooting through Dorian’s entire body. In his own pants, he felt his cock twitch, stirring to life.

Suddenly, the situation became a lot more _interesting._

Dorian realized that he had a dilemma. As the sensation of his stiffening cock became more demanding, he had the urge to reach into his pants and stroke himself. Except... he was working, and therefore supposed to be focused on the task at hand. Diverting his attention to his own pleasure would detract from his efforts to please the client. And – judging by the breathy sounds the man was making, he was close.

Ignoring his own need, Dorian continued to tongue and suck Gordon’s cock as expertly as he could, all the while watching Cullen out of the corner of his eye.

Cullen’s hand was moving faster now, more decisively. Expression softer. _Maker, please let that man come._ Dorian knew exactly what he’d be picturing when he was fucking his own hand alone in his bedroom later.

Then Cullen let out a soft moan that hummed into Dorian’s ear, traveled down his spine, struck every nerve in his groin and nearly unmade him.

He imagined it was Cullen’s dick between his lips. With unbridled enthusiasm he let out his own soft moan, sucking harder as he let wormed his free hand into the gap in Gordon’s pants, cupping the man’s balls before gently and deliberately tugging on them.

He’d achieved the effect he was after. Suddenly the fingers in his hair twisted more tightly. With a jerk, Dorian’s head was pulled back. Gordon’s other hand reached down, hand on Dorian’s hand, forcing the younger man’s hand to stroke him as he finished on Dorian’s face.

Dorian just managed to close his eyes right before the semen, hot, jetted across his chin, lips, and his cheek.

When he opened his eyes, he noted Gordon’s pleased look as he tucked himself away in his pants. “You did good, boy,” he said. “Hang on, I’ll get you something to clean up with.”

Dorian made an effort not to lick his lips as he stood up. Smiled politely at Gordon as he plucked out a few tissues from the box the man held out to him.

As Dorian finished wiping the spunk off his face, Cullen, his clothes rearranged, stepped up to his side. “So,” he said, tone conversational, as if they’d been discussing the weather and not having just finished a mostly unsatisfactory voyeuristic sex act. “Are you satisfied, Gordon?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I’d say so,” he said, then held out a hand to take the dirty tissues from Dorian. “I won’t keep you boys, though. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

\------------------------

This time, when Cullen invited Dorian into the mansion for a cup of coffee, Dorian accepted.

Things had felt a bit awkward to Dorian after, particularly in that moment in the elevator when Cullen, standing so very close to him, had turned to him and asked, “Was that more like what you expected?”

Dorian was doing his best not to glance down at Cullen’s crotch in search of a telltale bulge. Cullen hadn’t gotten off. Was he still hard?

Dorian cleared his throat, and forced nonchalance. “Well, it was more or less what you’d told me ahead of time, so... yes.”

_Except for the part where you watched me while touching yourself, and how fucking hot that was._

Cullen regarded him, gaze intent. “No regrets, then?”

“No,” Dorian admitted. “And you?” When Cullen looked at him a bit blankly, he added, “Do you have any regrets?”

Cullen became thoughtful. “The money is good. It’s better than being a barista, that’s for sure. But sometimes...”

“Sometimes?” Dorian prompted.

“Oh. It can take its toll. If you don’t... pace yourself.” Cullen offered him a smile. “Like any job, I suppose.”

Once at the mansion, Cullen led the way towards the lounge. As they made their way down the corridor, they passed by a man that Dorian had never seen before, heading the other way.

A slim body in a perfectly tailored dark suit. An almost blindingly white shock of hair swept back away from his face. And his face...

Dorian had never believed in love at first sight. That – according to Felix – was just a trope in romance novels and films that ruined girls’ expectations about relationships. Dorian had never laid eyes on another man for the first time and believed that their meeting was somehow fate.

Until now.

The man coming towards them was beyond beautiful. He was exquisite. For a moment, it seemed like the entire world beyond this man’s face had ceased to even exist. All of a sudden, Dorian’s stomach lurched, twisting itself into coils. His skin became feverishly hot. And his head almost seemed to spin. At the same time he felt like his body was light as air.

Cullen greeted him with a brusque, “Hey.”

Green eyes flicked to the blond. “Cullen,” he returned, in a voice so deep and luscious that it sent a shiver of ecstasy down Dorian’s spine. And then the green eyes flicked once more, this time meeting his.

For a moment that seemed like an eternity, their eyes met. Dorian could feel the familiar flood of adrenaline spike through his blood, and his heart hammering so hard that it felt like it might just batter its way straight out of his chest.

Eyes that were an unusual green color. Like the celadon pottery his mother had kept displayed in the dining room. Green like acacia leaves in summer sunlight. Green like celery... no, brighter, like the outermost layer of the soft flesh of an avocado.

And then – a few seconds or an eternity later – the man broke eye contact. Oblivious to the effect he’d just had on Dorian, without slowing, he passed Dorian by, and continued on his way down the corridor towards the front door.

In his wake, a mist of cologne lingered in the air. Dorian recognized that scent: Calvin Klein’s _Obsession._

Somehow, after that life-changing experience, Dorian managed to move his legs. He even managed to keep up with Cullen, sliding down on one of the stools at the bar as Cullen moved behind it and began preparing them coffee. Surprisingly, his voice was remarking steady, betraying nothing.

“So,” Dorian said, with near pitch-perfect indifference. “Who was that?”

“Oh,” Cullen said, attention on the milk he was pouring into the steam pitcher. “I forgot that you hadn’t met him, or I would have introduced you. That’s Fenris.”

Dorian’s thoughts were thick as molasses. “The other twink, you mean.”

Cullen made a noise of agreement as he reached for the bag of coffee. “Indeed.” He flashed Dorian a little smirk. “Did I tell you that he specializes in kink?”

“Kink?”

“BDSM, mostly.”  
Dorian tried to swallow down the fact that he’d just fallen head over heels for a sadist. Or was he more of a masochist? Dorian was trying to formulate his next question when Cullen spoke up again. “Oh, he’s from Tevinter, too.”

“Tevinter?” Dorian repeated. “Do you know where?”

Cullen’s hands paused in their task as he thought for a moment. “I think he said Minrathous...” Cullen’s expression became grave. “I should warn you, though. Fenris doesn’t like talking about his past, so... you probably shouldn’t mention it.”

 _Well, fuck._ There went Dorian’s one possible topic of small talk the next time he actually saw this Fenris. He thought about Minrathous for a moment. He was about to ask Cullen something else about this mysterious white-haired man when Cullen turned to steam the milk, drowning out any possibility of speaking.

A few moments later, Cullen was sliding another perfect cappuccino in front of him. Only this time, his fingertips brushed lightly against Dorian’s. When Dorian lifted his eyes and noted Cullen’s playful little smirk, he completely forgot all about the fact that he’d just a few minutes ago, he’d become completely enamored of a total stranger.

Instead, he was suddenly back at that apartment, eagerly sucking on a man’s cock for all he was worth while imagining that it was Cullen’s.

“You know, I...” Cullen began, voice low, only to be interrupted by a series of electronic blips. With a sigh, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew his phone – which, Dorian noted with a touch of envy – was the latest Samsung Galaxy. When he looked up from the screen, his expression had lost all previous playfulness. “I... forgive me, but I have to go. Mia – my sister – she....” Cullen trailed off, then smiled ruefully. “Family business. I don’t want to bore you.”

Dorian doubted he would find any information about Cullen’s private life boring, but he’d sensed that prying wouldn’t be welcome. “Yes, of course. I understand,” Dorian said, faking a smile, as he felt hollow inside for what he was about to say. “There’s nothing more important than family.”

 


	5. What a Tacky Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his final test with his mentor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers. I have been very bad at responding to comments lately, but at this point, your encouragement is the only thing that is keeping me going right now. So I appreciate it. :)
> 
> Also, if you were hoping for some proper Cullrian smut, well... I managed to slip it in. (Pun intended) HA!

“Okay, Sparkles,” Varric said, looking immensely pleased with himself, “we have the perfect final test for you.”

Dorian, sitting on the edge of Varric’s desk, stopping swinging his leg. “I’m listening.”

“One of our best clients,” the small man explained as he scratched absentmindedly behind his ear with a pencil. “Usually he just asks for Fenris. But sometimes he wants two boys, so we offered him a deal.”

Dorian mulled over that. Or rather: _Fenris._ At some point since he’d first laid eyes on Fenris two days ago, Dorian had gone back onto the agency’s website to read every detail about the man. Superficial things, really, such as his age – a mature twenty-five – his height – a meager five feet eight – and his orientation – bisexual. Granted, Dorian had noted Fenris the first time he’d checked out the website as being one of the two men of color, but he’d been too distracted by Cullen Rutherford to pay the other boys much attention.

Also, in the past two days, he’d decided that whatever spark he’d felt upon seeing Fenris was just a fluke. Pheromones, or something. Instant attraction, most likely. Not love.

_Love at first sight? Preposterous._

“And,” Varric added, now twirling his pencil, “I hope your money maker’s clean, Sparkles, because there will be anal.”

“Fine,” Dorian said. Though the thought of fucking a complete stranger for money filled him with a strange, thrilling mix of excitement and trepidation. And with Cullen there... would he be watching? Participating? The client wanted two boys... did that mean one after the other, or both of them at the same time?

Varric dragged Dorian back out of his wandering thoughts. “Cullen will meet you there in about twenty minutes. I’ll give you the address. Don’t be late.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dorian arrived at the address Varric had given him. He’d arrived first, so he had time to study the house. It was small for a mansion, but no less grand than the other buildings on the quiet Hightown side street, each one a reflection of old Tevinter architecture. Dark stone and sharp edges, and painted with climbing glossy green ivy.

Cullen appeared three minutes later. Hurried, but hair and clothing – as usual – perfect. “Waiting long?”

“No. I just got here.”

“Well, come on, then,” Cullen said, already turning to walk down the path that led to the door. Over his shoulder he smiled. “Time to introduce you to the Bull.”

“The... Bull?” Dorian stammered as Cullen rang the doorbell. Muffled by the heavy door, inside something light and delicate chimed five times.

Cullen smiled wryly. “You’ll see.”

On the sixth and final chime, the door opened and Dorian saw.

The Bull was obviously a nickname, and a well-deserved one at that. The man at the door was at least six inches taller than Dorian, with shoulders so broad they nearly filled the doorway. A salmon pink dress shirt, open at the throat stretched taut over bulging muscles. Dorian couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the sheer enormity of the man in the doorway. He was just... _huge._ The size of him was intimidating. A sensation that was not alleviated in the slightest by the eye patch he wore over his left eye.

Bull smiled at the blond. “Good to see you again, Cullen,” he said, with a deep, rumbling voice that was all gravel and ash. “Come on in.”

Once in the living room, Dorian followed Cullen’s lead and took a seat on an extravagantly stylish sofa made of chocolate brown leather and chrome while Bull walked over to the bar against the opposite wall. Dorian couldn’t help but notice how muscular the man’s ass was beneath the well-fitting charcoal gray slacks. “Drinks?” he rumbled as he reached for a glass. “You’re a bourbon man, if I recall correctly.”

“On the rocks,” Cullen added.

“And you?” Bull asked, good eye sweeping over Dorian.

“Gin and tonic, if you have it.”

“Got most everything,” Bull said. Ice clinked as he dropped it into each of three glasses. “No point in havin’ a bar if you don’t keep it well-stocked for company.”

As Bull fixed the drinks, Dorian surveyed the room. Everything was a mix of dark leather, dark wood, chrome and glass. A large collection of electronic equipment was neatly stashed away below a large flatscreen television. Across the remaining expanse of white walls, there was a series of exotic looking wooden masks, and some large black and white prints of dramatic landscapes: glaciers, fields of volcanic rock, waterfalls, and one of a little house built into a hillside with a roof made of grass.

As Bull sauntered back over, he caught Dorian looking at it. “That’s the _Althing,_ in Iceland. Just outside of Rekjavik,” he said as he handed Dorian his drink. “You ever been?”

“To Iceland? No, actually, I haven’t.”

Bull passed Cullen the glass of bourbon before easing himself down in the nearby chair. “Real pretty place. People are kinda weird, though. They believe in elves.”

Dorian sipped his drink. Strong, he could taste the gin – whatever it was, it wasn’t cheap. “The good kind of elves? Or the bad kind?”

Bull leaned back in the chair, elbow on the armrest, drink held aloft. “The kind that steal babies and leave changelings in their place.” He paused, his eye sweeping over Dorian again. Approvingly. “If you want to ask about the eye, you can. The story ain’t that good, but most people are usually curious.”

“Well, you could make something up. I certainly wouldn’t know the difference.”

Bull smiled. “Making up shit – ain’t my strong point.” He took a large sip from his glass. “This was back in my wrestling days – I used to be a pro. One night, after a match, me and some of the other boys went out to a bar. So we’re just hanging out, shooting the shit and drinking. You know, nothing out of the ordinary. That’s when the trouble began. Some drunk asshole was picking on this kid. Skinny little kid, maybe half his size. Apparently he’d clocked the kid as being ‘a tranny’ and took offense at the kid’s existence.”

By the disgusted huff that had accompanied that slur, Dorian understood where the man’s sympathies lay.

“I didn’t even know the kid, but shit like that pisses me off. So I decided I was going to get involved.” Bull took another large sip. “Didn’t see the asshole’s knife. A little switchblade. I think he was going for my throat, but... he missed.”

In the ensuing silence, they all drank.

“So, what happened to the kid?” Dorian asked.

“Turns out he was a fan,” Bull said, then grinned. “So I gave him my autograph.”

“And the asshole?”

“Oh, him. Yeah, I fucked him up pretty good. Then the cops showed up and took him for a ride after my friends explained the situation.”

“That’s quite a story,” Dorian said. “Positively heroic.”

“Or stupid,” Bull said. Tilting his head, his eye swept over Dorian again. Appreciatively. “So Varric told me that you’re a new boy. This your first time?”

“Third, actually,” Cullen offered. Ice clinked as he swirled his glass. “You’re the final test before we set him loose.”

Bull hummed thoughtfully. “Another drink?”

Dorian was still sipping his. Funny he hadn’t noticed that Cullen’s glass was empty. “I’d appreciate that,” Cullen said, handing over his glass as Bull rose to take it.

At the bar again, Bull half-turned, speaking over his shoulder. “So... Dorian, right? You sound Tevinter. Minrathous?”

“Most recently, yes.”

“You ever been to that place in the Vivazzi Plaza? With the big, cracked bell hanging off the roof?”

Dorian knew the place well, not too far from the University. “With the dancers, yes,” he said with a wistful sigh. “You’re making me homesick.”

Bull handed Cullen his freshened drink, then sat down again. For a while Bull and Dorian made small talk about Minrathous. Drinks were freshened once more. And all the while, Bull’s eye kept repeating that appreciative little glance. With just a touch of lust.

 _He likes me,_ Dorian thought. _That can’t be bad, can it?_

At the bottom of their glasses, Bull asked. “Anyone want another drink?”

When Cullen declined, Dorian followed suit.

Bull leaned forward to set his own glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. Leaned back again, this time folding his hands together between his parted knees. “In that case, take off your clothes, boys, and fuck.”

For a moment, Dorian froze, wondering if he’d just heard correctly.

Cullen, in striking contrast, had already lifted his hands to his shirtfront, casually undoing one button at a time. “Here?”

Okay, so perhaps he had heard correctly. Bull wanted to watch him and Cullen.

_Fucking._

“In the bedroom,” Bull said, rising from his chair. “Follow me.”

Dorian followed behind Cullen on shaky legs, thoughts still swirling and tinged with disbelief. A moment later, they were stepping into the master bedroom. In the center of the room was a luxurious, larger-than-king-size, four-poster bed with a coverlet of what looked like raw silk. The only other things in the room were a desk and chair, and a video camera upon a tripod set up near the bed.

As Bull sat down on the chair after turning the camera on, Cullen returned to his previous task of unbuttoning his shirt.

Dorian hesitated for a second over the camera. As heir to the Pavus fortune, he’d been obligated to keep shame from falling upon his family by being discreet in all his affairs. No nude photos, and certainly no naughty videos. Briefly, he considered what sort of scandal would be caused should his sex tape end up on the internet.

Cullen had seen the camera, of course. But he didn’t seem put off by it. And what did Dorian really care if he did besmirch the Pavus name, now that he was no longer a part of that family?

Dorian started undressing.

Cullen tossed his shirt aside, kicked off his shoes, then unbuckled his belt. “You have a preference for who’s bottom?”

Bull’s gaze flickered over Cullen’s form briefly before lingering on Dorian’s as both men pushed down and stepped out of their pants. “Damn, you both have so many muscles, but... I think the new boy should bottom.”

Cullen’s eyes, all warm amber, swept up and down Dorian briefly before coming to rest on his face. “That all right with you?’

Dorian hadn’t imagined sex with Cullen like this – in front of a one-eyed pro-wrestler with a video camera – but he had imagined it while pleasuring himself two nights ago. And in that particular fantasy, Cullen had been fucking him until he begged for more. Maker, Cullen – standing here, looking at him like that with a hint of hunger in his eyes as he slowly peeled off his blue boxer briefs – was so damn _hot_. In his own red silk boxers, Dorian felt himself stirring at the mere thought of being beneath the blond.

He had to swallow to get his voice to work. “Yes, I...” he cleared his throat to shake the husky warble that had appeared in it, but failed miserably “...I think I might enjoy that.”

Cullen’s eyes lit up. Then followed the movements of Dorian’s trembling fingers as he slipped off and stepped out of his underwear. Lips curled into a pleased little smile at Dorian’s half-hard cock. “Good,” he said softly. He paused to scoop up his pants, fishing around in his pocket. Withdrawing a couple of condoms and a small tube of lube, he leaned over to deposit them on the bedside table before turning back to Dorian. “Is kissing okay?”

“Please.”

Cullen turned his head towards Bull. “Any special requests?”

“I’m thinking a little sixty-nine this time,” Bull said casually. “Other than that, just a good solid fuck. And you – ” he said to Dorian “– feel free to make some noise. Show you’re enjoying it, even if you aren’t.”

Dorian felt his heart flutter a bit as Cullen stepped up to him. Then Cullen’s hand was on his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

There was nothing coy about Cullen’s kiss. It was insistent pressure of lips, consuming mouth that darted in, tasted and savored, drawing back only to dive immediately back in again. Dorian’s hands fell on Cullen’s chest. Beneath his fingers, Cullen was all hard muscle under velvety warm skin.

Cullen kissed him again. Then Dorian made a little muffled noise of pleased surprise as Cullen’s hands slid over Dorian’s ass, cupping the flesh firmly as he jerked Dorian’s hips up against his.

In his past sexual encounters, Dorian had usually been the one setting the pace. Apart from a few alcohol-inspired quickies in bathrooms or back alleys, Dorian preferred to go slow enough to enjoy the experience to the full. However, in this case, he had no problem letting Cullen take the lead.

On Cullen’s tongue, the rather masculine taste of bourbon. And he smelled good – not doused with cologne, but there was a lingering trace of some fragrance from the deodorant and aftershave he wore – something floral, with hints of cinnamon, cloves, sandalwood and citrus.

As Cullen sucked on Dorian’s tongue, Dorian let his hands wander. Teasing over nipples, tripping over ribs, sliding down his hips. Between them, he felt both of their cocks stiffening.

Dorian made a muffled moan of pleasure as Cullen’s fingers stroked, then firmly gripped his backside. Then he moaned again as the blond’s hands began to move purposefully, lifting his cheeks and spreading his ass.

After a few too-brief moments of this delicious teasing, Cullen withdrew a little. Hands on Dorian’s hips, angling him slightly before he slipped his hand between Dorian’s legs.

Dorian huffed a soft breath as Cullen wrapped long, warm fingers around him and began to leisurely stroke. As Dorian reached out to retaliate, he realized just why Cullen had coaxed him to turn: so that Cullen touching him like this would be caught clearly on camera.

 _Is this all just for show?_ Dorian wondered. But the proof that Cullen wanted him was in his hand. The blond’s cock was rock hard. Dorian couldn’t help but to glance down at it for a better look than he’d had the other day.

Maker, it was delicious – even bigger than his own, well-formed, and ramrod straight. From the agency’s website, he’d known that Cullen was packing an impressive eight inches. Having it in hand, though, made him realize that he’d never taken a cock anywhere near this big before.

Dorian was back to feeling that mix of excitement and trepidation.

And – given the pace Cullen was setting – he prayed to the Maker that Cullen wasn’t going to rush through the preparation part of this. Especially when Cullen reached for Dorian’s hands and drew him down to the bed after less than a minute of their stroking each other.

At Cullen’s coaxing, Dorian lay down on his left side on the bed. Waited, tense with anticipation as Cullen slid down gracefully so that he was lying on his left side, as well, but with his head settled at Dorian’s hips, and vice versa.

Dorian liked to talk during sex. Either to give instructions, or just a little dirty talk. But Cullen hadn’t said anything – though perhaps that was just because of the camera? Still, he felt somewhat more at ease when Cullen flashed him a sly little conspiratorial smirk before he leaned forward, tongue darting out to lick Dorian’s cock.

Dorian’s body jerked. Then jerked again, moaning softly as Cullen’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock. Fuck, Cullen’s mouth felt good. It took Dorian a few more seconds to remember that he was supposed to be reciprocating.

Taking a firm hold at the base of the shaft, Dorian took Cullen into his mouth.

And felt a little thrill of delight at Cullen’s muffled, wanton noise.

Dorian threw himself into the act. Granted, there was only so much of Cullen that would fit in his mouth, coupled with the fact that the angle complicated matters and that what Cullen was doing to him was more than a little distracting – but, by the sounds Cullen was making, he was clearly enjoying this.

He wasn’t the only one enjoying it. Feeling Cullen’s hot mouth moving up and down while his own mouth was full of cock felt incredible. So lost to that heady mix of sensations, he barely noticed or cared when Bull finally rose from his chair, camera in hand as he skirted around the bed to film them more closely.

It wasn’t long before Dorian felt the impending orgasm – hot, tense fire at the base of his belly, demanding release. There was nothing more he wanted at that moment than to let go in Cullen’s mouth. But he knew he shouldn’t. Stilling his head, he gave Cullen’s thigh a pinch.

Cullen interpreted Dorian’s gesture correctly. Releasing Dorian, he then sat up. Reached over to the bedside table and picked up the lube.

A moment later, Dorian was on his hands and knees, gasping as Cullen pushed two lube-drenched fingers inside him. Dorian breathed slowly and deeply, trying to force his body to relax as Cullen’s fingers continued working at him.

Then suddenly Dorian was clutching the silk coverlet with both hands, an animal noise breaking out of his throat as Cullen’s fingers swept over his prostate.

Dorian was very nearly nothing more than a desperate, needy wreck of a man by the time Cullen withdrew his fingers. He felt the brush of Cullen’s weight against his back as the blond leaned over him, followed by Cullen’s hot breath near his ear. “Are you ready, Dorian?”

 _Fuck._ Cullen murmuring his name into his ear like that nearly unmade him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to get fucked this badly. He didn’t even trust himself to speak at this point, so he nodded vigorously.

“Don’t move,” Cullen murmured. He then reached over to the bedside table again. Rolled on a condom which he then greased up with a generous amount of lube before he settled himself down on the bed behind Dorian. Hands on Dorian’s shoulders, he coaxed the Tevinter into position so that he was squatting with his back to Cullen. Lying down, Cullen tugged a pillow under his head as he stretched his legs out between Dorian’s.

Dorian steadied himself by placing both hands against the mattress as one of Cullen’s hands gripped his hip, the other lining up his cock at Dorian’s entrance.

Down south, they called this position reverse cowboy. Unfortunately it meant that he couldn’t see Cullen’s face, but it did give Dorian the advantage of setting the pace. Exhaling deeply, Dorian began to sink down onto Cullen’s ready cock.

 _Maker, he’s huge,_ Dorian thought as he felt the subtle burn of his sensitive flesh stretch to accommodate the prick entering him. Fortunately, though, Cullen seemed satisfied to wait as Dorian continued to try to slowly ease himself down. Except that – no matter how slow he went – his body wasn’t relaxed enough to handle it without pain.

Fortunately, neither Cullen nor Bull seemed to mind when Dorian stopped to request that Cullen apply more lube.

Once more, Dorian began to ease down. Stopped twice more to add more lube. Each time he began to bear down on Cullen, he was able to take more of him. After the third time, his hole was practically drenched in lube and he was able to take Cullen all the way in.

Fuck, he’d never been this full before. There was definitely a perverse sort of pleasure in being in his position, over Cullen, with Cullen’s monstrous cock buried ball’s deep inside him. More than anything, he wanted to fuck himself to completion on it.

Dorian began to move. Slowly at first. Until finally Cullen’s cock was gliding in and out of him easily.

At that point, Cullen’s hands gripped his hips again. Holding Dorian still, Cullen began to move, thrusting up into him.

Maker, that felt even better. Each hard thrust forced a lusty groan past Dorian’s lips as Cullen surged within him, hitting his prostate with every stroke. Dorian was only half-aware of the sound of their slapping flesh, and the jerky way his own dick bobbed in time to Cullen’s thrusts.

Shit, it felt so fucking good. Better than he’d imagined. Once Dorian was on the verge of an orgasm again, he grabbed his bouncing cock with one hand, stroking himself as Cullen’s tempo increased, fucking him faster.

With a choked cry, Dorian came hard, spend spattering across the coverlet. The sensation was so intense that he almost didn’t notice Cullen’s stuttering breaths as the blond reached his own peak, straining deep inside of Dorian’s clenching body.

A moment ticked by, then they disentangled themselves. As Dorian plopped down on the bed, Cullen slid to the edge and stood up, making a face as he pulled off the condom. “Bathroom?”

“Just down the hall to the left,” Bull said.

Dorian couldn’t help but notice the dimples in Cullen’s perfect ass as he walked out of the room.

Bull, who’d been seated in his chair again, stood up and sauntered over to the camera, shutting it off. “Nice,” he rumbled. “There was definitely some chemistry between you two.”

Obviously, the session was over. Dorian scooted to the edge of the bed, reaching for his clothing. “Then the... performance was acceptable?”

Bull studied him as he slipped his underwear on. Then he chuckled. “Performance, my ass,” he said. “How long you been wanting a piece of angel face there?”

Dorian froze for a moment. Then he reached for his pants. “We only just met about a week ago.”

Bull watched as Dorian pulled on his pants, then his shirt before he sat down to pull on his socks. Then Bull chuckled softly again. “If it makes you feel any better... far as I could tell, you weren’t the only one who really wanted this to happen.”

Dorian swallowed. But before he could respond, Cullen returned. When he caught Dorian’s eye, he flashed a quick smile that caused Dorian’s heart to skip a beat.

Then Cullen leaned down to scoop up his own clothes. Stepped into his underwear, pulling them up as he eyed Bull sideways. “You’re satisfied, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Bull said with a sly grin. “And tell your bosses they should keep the new boy. I’d definitely enjoy seeing him again.”


	6. What a Vulgar Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian learns something about Fenris and Krem, and goes on his first solo job as an escort.

Dorian sat perched on the edge of Varric’s desk as the older man talked into the phone.

“Mmm hmm... Yeah, that’s no problem... what time works for you...? And for how long...? Sure... you got it... mmkay, bye.”

Snapping the phone shut, Varric leaned back in his chair. Steepled his fingers as he studied Dorian for a long moment. “So... I’ve heard Cullen’s report.”

Dorian wondered exactly how detailed this report had been. He hadn’t seen Cullen since the job at Bull’s place, but – for a full solid day he’d been reminded of their antics anytime he sat down somewhere less than soft. “Does that mean I pass muster?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “‘Pass muster’?” he repeated. Then he smiled. “Don’t tell me. I have another boy who mostly learned the common tongue from books.”

Well, it wasn’t as if Dorian could deny that. And – _another boy?_

“Anyway, Curly said you have a knack for this line of work.”

“Well. I suppose that’s useful.”

“You’re good with clients,” Varric continued. “Personable. That will make you popular, so... yes, very useful. You’ll probably end up with a lot of regular clients, which is good for you, good for them, and good for business.”

“I see.”

“So. This is how it works. I’ve put your number in the system. So you’ll start getting alerts. Pick the ones that interest you.” Varric paused, eyeing Dorian closely. “Seriously, though. Since you’re still new to this, none of the others will begrudge you if you take the easy jobs first. Oh, and don’t neglect yourself, either. You want to take a day off, take a day off.”

So. There it was. Dorian was officially a call boy. Strangely, he didn’t feel too bad about his decision. “Well... all right.”

“Good boy, Sparkles,” Varric said with a smile. “Welcome to the Kirkwall Escort Agency. We’re glad to have you aboard.”

\-----------------------

Varric’s slightly cryptic comment about another boy learning common from books soon became clear when – after leaving Varric’s office – he spotted Fenris curled up alone on one of the sofas in the lounge.

Reading a book.

In that moment, Dorian Pavus fell in love with Fenris just a little bit more.

Seeing him this time, however, Dorian’s reaction wasn’t quite the soul-churning visceral experience which had nearly overwhelmed him before. Still, he could feel his heart beating just a little bit faster, and his palms were already becoming sweaty.

A part of him wanted to just stand there and drink the man in with his eyes. Another part of him wanted to flee the fuck out of there. And another part of him wanted to climb on top of Fenris, push him down on the firm cushions of the leather couch, and ravish him.

None of those options, however, were very practical.

There was another option, of course. He could try talking to the man. In fact, given that they were the only ones in the lounge, it was actually the perfect opportunity to strike up a casual conversation.

Steeling his nerves, Dorian crossed the room and then slid gracefully down on the couch within an arm’s length of Fenris. When green eyes flicked up to him, he smiled and asked, in a rather chipper tone, “So! What are you reading?”

The look Fenris was giving him now changed. Dorian easily recognized that look, even though he was usually the one who was giving it. That look that screamed: _What the fuck is wrong with you? Can’t you see I’m reading? Leave me alone._

Of course, with their being civilized human beings, Fenris did what any civilized person would do in that situation. He tilted the cover so that Dorian could see it, adding, “It’s Nabokov. _Pale Fire._ ”

Maker, that voice of his. It felt like someone was rubbing fur and velvet all over his skin. Still, he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that this man was _reading his most favorite novel of all time._

At that point, he couldn’t help it. He fell a fraction deeper into love.

“You like Nabokov?” Dorian asked. “He’s my favorite author. Have you read any of his other works?”

Fenris’ mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. His expression somewhat guarded. Perhaps skeptical? “I’ve only read _Lolita_ so far.”

Not surprising, as that was where most people started. “Then you’re in for a treat,” Dorian gushed. “That book – it’s practically _perfect.”_

At Dorian’s sincere display of enthusiasm, Fenris seemed to relax a little. Less skeptical?

Dorian pressed on. “So you read a lot, I take it?”

Fenris regarded him briefly. Then slipped a bookmark between the pages before closing the book, letting it rest on his thigh. “It passes the time.”

“So... what do you usually like to read?”

 _That_ was the pay-off question. Ask any serious reader to talk about books they liked, and they would go on forever. Suddenly, the conversation opened up, words flowing.

What Dorian learned about Fenris during this conversation: the man wasn’t nearly quite as well-read as Dorian, but they shared similar tastes. He didn’t own any sort of e-book reader because he didn’t like reading on a screen, preferring the feel of the actual pages leafing through his fingers. And that he hadn’t studied literature formally, which meant that he tended to blindly jump into books which other people had recommended to him.

All the while, Dorian tried not too stare too much at Fenris’ lips. They were very _nice_ lips. Firm, without being too full. A shade of pink that was almost a contrast against the creamy caramel color of his skin.

Then, in a lull in the conversation, Fenris pushed up his sleeves, then ran a hand through his hair. Dorian caught a flash of pale swirls like ivy leaves climbing up both of Fenris’ arms.

“Are those tattoos?” he blurted out.

Fenris glanced down at his arms as if he’d forgotten the markings were there. “Yes.”

That wasn’t a very forthcoming answer. “White ink?”

Fenris’ lips tightened. Just a little. “Yes.”

Well... okay. Obviously he’d stumbled upon a touchy subject. Really, though, most people with tattoos were usually more than happy to talk about them. He quickly changed the subject. “Can I ask you something? How do you get your hair that white?”

“Bleach. A lot of it.”

His eyebrows were dark. Almost black. Dorian supposed Fenris needed to bleach his hair several times just to get it down to a brassy blond, much less white as snow. Even so, it looked very soft. “And that doesn’t fry your hair?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “But I use a salon-quality conditioner. That helps to keep it from drying out too much.”

Dorian resisted the urge to reach out and run his fingers through Fenris’ soft-looking, blinding-white hair. “Can I ask you something else?”

The look Fenris now gave him was wry. “Could I even stop you?”

 _Oh, he’s got a bit of sass in him._ Dorian liked that. “I... well, I was wondering how long you’ve been doing this sort of... work.”

Fenris looked at him for a moment. Then made a sort of thoughtful hum. “About six years.”

Six years... which meant he’d been nineteen when he started. It seemed like a rather long time to Dorian. “And... did you always do kink?”

The look Fenris gave him was about as warm as an icicle.

“Ah... Cullen mentioned that you specialized in it.”

Fenris’ fingers absentmindedly fanned the pages of the book in his lap. “No. Not at first. But there was a need for it,” Fenris said. “So someone had to do it. And it pays well.”

Dorian considered that. After talking to Cullen, he’d gotten the impression that an escort was paid for his time, rather than the amount of work required of him. So a hand job could equal a quick fuck. Curious, Dorian asked, “Really? And... if you don’t mind... what kinds of things do you do with clients like that? The BDSM ones, I mean. How does that even work?”

Dorian’s curiosity was not sated, however, because it was at that moment that Zevran breezed into the lounge. Spying the men on the sofa, he made a beeline for them.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, tossing himself down uninvited in the narrow space between them. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said to Fenris. Then to Dorian, he said, “I heard that your... apprenticeship is over. How very exciting! Now you’re one of us. One of the illustrious rentboys of Kirkwall.”

Dorian tried not to be annoyed at the interruption. Or by the fact that Fenris was now gathering up his things, readying to leave. “I’m not sure how you heard about it, since I only just talked to Varric myself.”

Zevran gave him a sugary smile. “Oh, I have my ways, my friend. And friends in low places.” He laughed. “I also heard that you got to meet the Bull. Quite an experience, that is, yes? Did you know he used to be one of those pro-wrestlers? In the masks?”

As Zevran continued to chatter, Dorian watched as Fenris stood up from the sofa. Messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he gave Dorian a brief nod in farewell before he slipped quietly out of the room.

Dorian sighed internally. Then turned his attention back to Zevran, who continued to speak to him, quite animatedly, about the recent clients he’d serviced, the dearth of decent places to buy good leather in Kirkwall, and finally about how he didn’t know what he was supposed to do about the woman who was mad at him.

“...I mean, it was such a silly thing,” Zevran was saying. “To get mad at me because I forgot our three-month anniversary. A three-month anniversary – what _is_ that? I’m telling you – it’s just a thing that women make-up, my friend.”

The implications of what Zevran was saying finally sank into Dorian’s brain. Though – in his defense – thoughts of Fenris’ lips were still proving distracting. “You... have a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Zevran purred with a sly smile. “Isabela.”

Dorian knew that some of the boys who worked at the agency were bi like Fenris, but... for some reason he hadn’t imagined that any of them would have a girlfriend. “And she knows what you do?”

Zevran’s smile became more sly. “Isabela is a very open-minded woman.”

\-----------------------

When Dorian’s phone beeped again, Krem gave him a look so sharp that Dorian was sure that his boss had drawn blood.

“Dorian,” Krem said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Maybe you wanna put that on vibtare while you’re at the gym?”

Dorian slipped the phone out of his pocket and set it to silent mode. “Sorry,” he muttered as he put the offending phone away again.

Krem’s gaze lingered on him for a moment in silence. Then he sighed. “Yeah, well, at least someone likes you enough to keep texting,” he said. Then, curious, “You got a new boyfriend or something?”

“Oh, no,” Dorian said quickly. “Just a friend.”

That was a lie, of course. The only texts he was getting these days were alerts from the agency about available clients. Dorian had already learned that he needed to turn his phone off when he wanted to sleep, because the alerts never stopped coming, even at three in the morning. Apparently there were a lot of drunk, lonely men looking for company in the middle of the night.

Krem pushed himself off the counter where he’d been leaning. “All right,” he said. “Keep an eye on things out here. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

Dorian watched Krem disappear into the little room in back which served as both supply room and Krem’s makeshift office. He hadn’t mustered up the courage to tell Krem about his other job, strangely anxious about what the other man would think.

Sera, on the other hand, had heard about it from Anders, and had enjoyed teasing him. At least she’d been nonjudgmental about it – and had even taken it for granted that he wouldn’t be working at the Beehive anymore, though he was welcome to come hang out and have a beer any time he liked. For some reason, that conversation had left him feeling a little bit sad and lost inside.

Still, he didn’t need the job at the Beehive anymore. A point that hit home hard when Varric had handed him an envelope yesterday with more cash in it – despite the subtraction of the agency’s twenty percent commission – than Dorian usually made in a _month._

He’d thought about quitting the gym. But he liked Krem. And he still got to use the equipment for free, so it made sense to stay for a while longer.

At least that’s what he told himself. If he were going to be brutally honest with himself, a part of him was hesitant to take on his first solo job for the agency. Working part-time at the gym – well, it at least allowed him the _illusion_ that his life was still normal.

Dorian tapped his fingers on the counter. He knew he couldn’t put it off forever. If anything, procrastinating was only going to make him _more_ nervous. Better to just take a job – _any_ job – and get it over with. _Tonight._

As Dorian toyed with this idea, one of the bodybuilders who’d been working out on the pec deck machine called out to him. “Hey, ‘Vint. You mind grabbing me some extra towels?”

Ah. Such was the glamorous life of a gym rat. “Sure. Just give me a moment.”

Dorian slipped out from behind the counter and headed to the little room in back.

Krem sat at the desk, feet up, staring down at the tablet in his hand, and tapping the screen every now and then. He glanced up only briefly as Dorian entered and crossed over to the shelving unit against the wall where they kept supplies. Dorian pulled out a couple of towels, then turned to leave again.

Except that one of the framed pictures on the wall caught his eye. There were several such pictures, mostly promotional shots of famous bodybuilders with autographs. Dorian had looked at them all before, but it was with a strange little epiphany that he recognized one of the men in the photographs.

The Bull.

He wore an absurd costume – a black and blue spandex number with spangles that showed off a good deal of broad shoulder and muscle. As he stared at the signature, he had a strange, nagging suspicion. “Cremisius?” Dorian ventured. “You know this man?”

The hand holding the tablet lowered as Krem looked at him. “Nah, not really,” he finally said. “I met him once. In a bar.”

Dorian waited. He wanted there to be more to the story. “Here in Kirkwall?”

“Yeah, at the Hanged Man.” A faraway, almost dreamy look came into Krem’s eyes. “I’d gotten into trouble. Guy I was fighting with had a knife. The Bull put himself between me and the blow,” Krem snorted a soft laugh. “The big idiot didn’t even know me.” Krem’s gaze sharpened, focusing on Dorian. “Why’d you ask?”

 _Maker_. Krem was the guy.... _wow._

“Oh,” Dorian said. “I just...” Dorian paused, scrambling for a plausible reason. Settled on the first thing that came to mind. “I saw him the other day. In Hightown.”

That faraway look returned to Krem’s eyes.

For some reason, Dorian felt like he was intruding on something deeply... personal. “Anyway, I just came for towels,” he chirped. “For the pec deck.”

Krem just nodded absentmindedly as Dorian hastily slipped out.

Towels delivered, Dorian returned to his post behind the counter. Thought for a moment. The last alert – no matter what it was – he’d take it. As long as it was happening tonight.

Taking out his phone, Dorian held his breath as he thumbed open the last message.

\-----------------------

Standing before the door of a rather immodest mansion in Hightown, Dorian drew a deep, calming breath before he rang the doorbell.

Since accepting this client, he’d tried not to have too many expectations. From the alert, he knew only three things: the man’s first name, that he had indicated that he wasn’t looking for kink, and that Dorian was to meet the man at his house.

Still, as he straightened the lapels of his jacket, he couldn’t help but wonder about his first client. Just standing outside the door, two things were immediately clear: that the man had money, and, to Dorian’s surprise, he even recognized the name on the plate above the door: Otranto.

It took him a moment to realize why the name rang a bell. Then he remembered. The Otranto family was one of the wealthiest in Antiva, and had built their empire through a series of hostile corporate takeovers. In fact, there had been a recent scandal when the Otrantos had allegedly cheated another Antivan family out of their holdings.

That wasn’t entirely reassuring.

On the other hand, growing up in the extravagantly wealthy Pavus family also meant that Dorian was in his element.

Wondering, he’d supposed that his first solo was going to be another old man who’d want to make use of Dorian’s mouth before fucking him. With that in mind, Dorian had come prepared with plenty of condoms and his favorite water-based lube, as well as making certain that his money maker – as Varric had called it – was squeaky clean. What he wasn’t quite prepared for was the appearance of the man who opened the door.

First of all, the man wasn’t old. In fact, he couldn’t have been much older than Dorian. He had dark hair buzzed down to stubble, and mocha-kissed skin, with pretty bright blue eyes that offered a striking contrast. Not only was he rather handsome, by his well-muscled body it was obvious that this Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto worked out.

More surprisingly was the state in which he’d answered the door.

Naked.

And sporting a rather lively erection.

Dorian found that kind of hot, frankly.

Shameless, Lord Springycock stood in the open doorway as his pretty eyes gave Dorian a quick once-over. “It’s about time you got here,” he complained mildly. “I’ve already started without you.”

Dorian’s glib tongue often got him into trouble, but for once he didn’t have a witty retort at the ready. Briefly he wondered if he were late – but, no, he was perfectly punctual.

Fortunately, however, Otranto didn’t seem particularly interested in a response. Instead of waiting, he opened he door wider to allow Dorian in. As he closed the door behind the Tevinter, he offered him a sly smile, and spoke in a creamy voice that was all seductive Antivan accent. “Get in the bedroom.”

“The bedroom?” Dorian unwound the cashmere scarf from about his neck, which Otranto then tossed on the coat rack in the corner. He then also took the jacket Dorian shucked off and hung that up on the same hook. “You’ll have to show me where that is.”

Otranto’s lusciously full lips curled up into a smirk. “Follow me.”

Dorian followed as the Antivan led him through the large, well-appointed mansion. Particularly when they climbed the stairs, Dorian couldn’t help but let his gaze fall to the man’s naked buttocks, admiring the way the hips subtly swayed and the muscles flexed with every step he took. A turn down the corridor brought them into what was decidedly a man’s bedroom – a no frills affair done in tastefully dark colors, with accents in pale blue and ivory. The sounds of moans and slapping flesh drew Dorian’s attention to the wide television screen attached to the wall opposite the bed, upon which gay porn was playing. For a moment Dorian’s gaze lingered on the rather enticing image of a pretty little twink moaning as he enthusiastically bounced up and down on his partner’s monstrously large cock.

Remembering his purpose here, Dorian turned back to Otranto, who was studying him intently as he casually palmed over his erection. “You’re from Tevinter, aren’t you?” he asked suddenly. “You have that look about you.”

Dorian wanted to point out that not everyone from his homeland was dark-skinned, but opted to smile instead. “Yes, Minrathous.”

“Ah, Minrathous,” Otranto said. “Dirty, like most cities. But fun.” Pausing, he let his eyes sweep over Dorian again. _Does he like what he sees?_ Dorian wondered. Apparently so, because Otranto then smiled, and gave his next order playfully. “Take off your clothes.”

Dorian intuited that the man wanted a spectacle. Otherwise there wouldn’t be hardcore porn playing in his bedroom, nor would he have answered the door naked and fully cocked.

Perhaps it was a remnant of his upbringing, but Dorian believed himself superior to most people. On the other hand, living a life of constant scrutiny due to his family’s high position in society meant that he secretly feared that he’d be unable to live up to the standards that had been set upon him. To compensate for this fear, Dorian always gave his very best in every endeavor he undertook. To be _mediocre_ – well, that just wasn’t acceptable to him. Which meant that being anything less than the best male escort at the Kirwall Escort agency was also unacceptable.

He considered Otranto. _If he wants a show, I’ll give him one._

Smiling sultrily, Dorian reached up to the buttons on his shirt. He undid each one with meticulous and methodical slowness, then – just as slowly – slid the shirt from his body, a tease of revealing skin, before finally tossing it aside. Shoes kicked off, he then let his fingers fall to the front of his belt. Metal jangled as he undid the the buckle. Slow slide of leather as he let the belt fall open. Then, without haste, he popped open the button of his trousers before grasping the zipper between his fingers and unhurriedly tugged it down. The zipper’s teeth yawned open, revealing the bright yellow silk of his underwear.

Still stroking himself, Otranto watched with perceptible interest as Dorian leisurely pushed down his pants, his hand motions quickening as Dorian bent over to remove the pants, then even more as Dorian straightened again, muscles rippling as his fingers languidly slid under the waistband of his boxers, against which his cock, mostly hard now from the combined tease of Ortanto’s flexing buttocks during the walk and the tantalizing images and sounds on the TV, clearly jutted.

Boxers kicked aside, Dorian then bent over again, this time turning slightly to allow Otranto a full view of his ass as he peeled off his socks. Straightening again, he smiled as he trailed his fingers up and down his own burgeoning erection.

Otranto’s gaze hungrily followed the trail of Dorian’s fingers for a moment before lifting his gaze to Dorian’s face. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

Dorian sauntered over to the bed, headily aware of the other man’s gaze, hot as desert sands, as it drank in Dorian’s body. Once Dorian had arranged himself as requested, Otranto padded over and dropped to his knees before him.

Dorian, compliant, watched with curious surprise as Ortanto’s hands slid down his chest, fingers tracing down his abs, before finally coming to a rest on Dorian’s thighs. With a sleek smile, Otranto then nudged Dorian’s legs open, shifting forward and settling himself down comfortably before he bent his head.

Dorian stifled a gasp as Otranto slowly took Dorian’s cock into his mouth and started to suck softly up and down on it. He hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of the blow job, but he let himself enjoy it, especially when Otranto began to lick up and down Dorian’s now-quivering shaft with just the tip of his tongue.

 _Maker, he’s really good at this,_ Dorian thought. A small moan escaped him as Otranto licked back up to spend a few moments concentrating on the head of Dorian’s cock. Fuck, it really felt good. Dorian could feel himself already close to the edge of an orgasm. Did the man want him to come? He was just about to murmur a warning when Otranto’s hot mouth slipped off him. Dorian quivered as he felt Otranto exhale sharply against the wet head of his cock before kissing his way back down Dorian’s shaft.

Dorian gasped again, fingers curling into the coverlet as Otranto spread his legs wider in order to tongue Dorian’s balls. He nearly bucked as the man took first one, then the other, into the heat of his mouth, gently sucking.

He’d been enjoying the attention that Otranto had been lavishing upon him, so he felt a genuine pang of disappointment when Otranto suddenly withdrew.

Blue eyes smiled up to him. “Your cock is exquisite,” he purred. “You will fuck me now.”

Dorian barely managed to mask his surprise. He’d been so sure when he’d accepted this client that his role in this scenario would be the opposite.

He considered the man for a few heartbeats. A handsome face, a body built for sin, and a wickedly fine ass. Getting paid to top this man? There was nothing he wanted more in this moment. He didn’t know what he had done to please the gods, but he wasn’t going to question his luck.

He offered Otranto his sultriest smile. “How do you want me?”

How the client wanted him turned out to be mabari-style on the bed, facing away from the headboard so that the TV screen was in front of both of them. In a few moments, Dorian was kneeling behind Otranto, hands on the man’s hips as he pushed into him.

Otranto was no amateur, and Dorian slid in easy. He was also grateful that his ardor had cooled a bit in the time it had taken to retrieve both lube and condom and apply them. Otherwise, given the stimulating sensation of Otranto’s tight, hot walls around him, he wouldn’t have lasted longer than a minute.

Dorian performed a few slow, experimental thrusts. It felt amazing. He would have been perfectly happy to continue at this leisurely pace, but he felt a little thrill when Otranto turned his head to look at Dorian over his shoulder, lips wet and parted, gaze fierce with lusty need, voice rough.

“Fuck me hard, whore,” he demanded. “Fuck me harder than you’ve every fucked anyone before.” He suddenly moaned as Dorian gripped his hips tighter and suddenly rammed into him. “Yes. Do it like that. Fuck me like you hate me.”

Like a good little whore, Dorian obliged him.

 


	7. Play Another Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets to know some of the escorts better.
> 
> To quote my friend Six: "A smut-free chapter? This is bullshit!" Ha, ha, I promise there will be an extra helping of smut in the next chapter.

Standing in front of his minuscule closet, damp hair pushed back away from his face, wearing nothing more than a thin white towel wrapped around his trim waist, Dorian frowned.

When he’d left Tevinter, he hadn’t taken much. But having limited choices somehow didn’t make it any easier to select which shirt and which pants to wear for his evening out at the Hanged Man. Especially since Cullen would certainly be there, as it was the handsome Ferelden who had texted him the invitation earlier that afternoon to meet up for drinks with some of the boys.

Thoughtful, he let his fingers riffle through the hangers. From what he’d heard about the Hanged Man, formal wear was hardly appropriate. In fact, he’d be less likely to be mugged if he opted to wear a sack of burlap tied with a dirty rope. In the end, however, he compromised by selecting a black and gold Versace t-shirt, and a pair of dark, well-fitting jeans that made his ass look phenomenal.

He didn’t need a mirror to tell him that his ensemble was _casual fucking hot._

For the past week, since his appointment with Adorno Ciel Otranto, Dorian had been busy plying his new trade. He’d only seen Cullen once, at the Tethras mansion, in passing. Cullen had greeted him warmly enough, and Dorian had spent some time wondering if that little smirk Cullen had given him had meant anything.

As Dorian made his way to the bar, he felt a little thrill of anticipation about tonight. But it wasn’t because of Cullen.

It was because he hoped that Fenris was there.

Once inside, Dorian wasn’t disappointed. At one of the larger tables near the bar, Cullen and some of the other escorts sat, and he felt his heart stagger a little bit when he caught a glimpse of that feather-soft, white hair.

Upon seeing him, all the boys waved him over with the sort of enthusiasm that made it abundantly clear that they were already drunk. Or at least well on their way down that road. The empty chair between Hawke and Zevran was kicked out for him. Cullen flashed him a little smile as he sat down.

A fuss was made over getting Dorian a drink _immediately_. Anders chuckled softly to himself as Hawke ordered his brother to go fetch some of the house swill. Grumbling, Carver shoved back his chair despite Dorian’s polite protest and headed to the bar.

A moment later, a tumbler full of something clear was set down in front of Dorian. At the urging of the other boys, Dorian slugged back half of whatever was in that glass, then instantly regretted it as his throat caught fire.

Gasping, he choked out the words. “Maker’s arse, this tastes like kerosene!”

Everyone laughed heartily.

“Close enough,” Cullen said, a ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips. “It’s the local specialty – Kirkwall firewater. They do say it will put hair on your chest.”

Dorian huffed. “I’d rather not have hair on my chest, thank you very much.”

“Lucky you,” Carver muttered. “Hawkes are hairy.”

Garrett Hawke just made a flippant gesture. “Some people like chest hair,” he drawled. “It’s manly.”

During the ensuing rowdy debate about body hair and how best to remove it from more _sensitive_ areas, Dorian managed to flag down down the waitress and order a real drink. In a few moments, he was sipping a rather strong gin and tonic while Zevran peered most unabashedly at him. Dorian wondered if there was something on his face – his mustache needed fixing perhaps? – but then the blond spoke.

“So, my friend,” he drawled, eyes twinkling, “it’s been two weeks. What do you think of the job so far?”

Dorian became aware that all the attention was now on him. Setting down his drink, he ran a finger along the wet rim as he thought about the various clients he’d serviced in the past week. “To tell the truth, I’m surprised how many just want to... well, companionship. I thought the clients would just want sex, not... _cuddling.”_

“Modern life,” Anders said. “Everyone’s lonely.”

Dorian thought that was sad. But he didn’t express that opinion out loud. Instead, with genuine curiosity, he asked, “Are all the clients married?”

Cullen smiled. “Most of the men are, yes.”

Anders raked a hand through his long hair. “Actually, I prefer the married ones,” he said thoughtfully. “They usually treat you right.”

Murmurs of agreement rose up around the table. Then the conversation turned, and Dorian was no longer in the limelight.

Dorian had always enjoyed being at the center of attention back in Tevinter. He wasn’t quite used to being just one in a crowd. Still, he mused as he leaned back in his chair and let the alcohol do its work, being ignored meant that he could sit here and watch Fenris with impunity.

Like Dorian, he was a picture of black and gold. Except the white-haired man wore a slim-fitting black button-down shirt with swirls of gold unfurling up the sleeves and down the sides. The shirt was open at the neck, revealing a tantalizing tease of light brown skin marked with those white ink tattoos. Right up and over the apple of his throat in a pattern reminiscent of a fern frond. Dorian was no expert on tattooing, but he imagined that it must have hurt.

Fenris didn’t speak much, compared to the others – in particular, Zevran, who seemed intent on bending Dorian’s ear by the time Dorian was halfway through his second round. Instead, Fenris seemed somewhere between attentive and indifferent as he drank steadily – but determinedly – throughout the evening. And he rarely met Dorian’s gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

Unlike Cullen. Who would catch Dorian’s eye every now and then, smirking as if they were sharing a big secret. Though – since no one had yet made any mention of Cullen fucking him in front of Bull – perhaps they _were._

As Zevran wrapped up a story about his girlfriend Isabela, Dorian realized that he’s just been presented with a wonderful opportunity to find out something of vital importance about Fenris.

“So,” Dorian piped up, loudly and cheerfully. “I know Zevran has a girlfriend, but... does anyone else here date?”

Everyone laughed.

“Yeah, sure,” Hawke said. “Assuming you can find someone willing to keep dating you once they find out what you do.”

“Surely that’s not impossible,” Dorian said.

Hawke snickered. “And neither is winning the lottery, if you ask those poor bastards down in Dark Town who line up at the Quickie Mart every payday.”

Hawke made a good point. Still, it hadn’t escaped Dorian’s notice that the only one who hadn’t responded in any way, not even with a simple shake of the head, was Fenris. “What about you, Fenris?” Dorian asked. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Fenris’ lips twitched, his expression wry. “I don’t have time for that,” he murmured.

Zevran ran his fingers lazily through his hair. “My friend, there is more to life than work,” he slurred. “There is this little thing called _fun_. Perhaps you should try it. Who knows? You might even like it.”

Fenris snorted softly in response.

Dorian didn’t know the blond Antivan very well, but he already had the suspicion that for Zevran _work_ and _fun_ were the same thing. But before he could pursue this line of questioning, the conversation turned, and the opportunity vanished like smoke.

Soon after, the boys called it a night. After settling their tab, they staggered out of the Hanged Man, onto the sidewalk. Dorian had missed the joke, but Hawke’s boisterous laughter rang out through the cool, night air, and was swallowed up by the shifting shadows of the dirty streets.

A hand clamped down on Dorian’s shoulder. Hawke, his color high, blue eyes sparkling. “So, where do you live?”

Dorian told him.

“Good,” Hawke said. He made a vague gesture at Carver and Zevran. “That’s not far from us. We can walk back together.”

Dorian smiled. “I’d be delighted,” he said graciously. He then glanced at the others. “And... everyone else?”

“Fenris lives in Hightown,” Hawke revealed. “Cullen’s down by the Docks. And Anders lives in Darktown.”

Dorian considered that. Fenris lived in Hightown? That was surprising. Dorian wondered how he could afford it – did being a twink who specialized in kink really pay that well? Given the cost of living in that part of the city, no wonder he didn’t have time to date.

Still, he was more surprised by Anders’ choice of residence. “Really, Anders? You live in Darktown?”

Anders shrugged. “It’s not that bad,” he said lightly. “If you don’t mind thugs trying to kill you every now and then.”

Fenris reached into his pocket and withdrew a set of keys. With a little flourish, he spun the ring around his finger once, the keys softly jangling as they landed in his palm. “Cullen. Anders. You want a ride?”

Anders paused, blinking. “Wait – you’re offering me a ride?” he asked, incredulous. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

Fenris’ response was curt. “It’s on the way,” he said, voice flat. “And I don’t like you.”

Dorian felt a little twinge of disappointment as Cullen, Fenris and Anders gave the rest of them a quick wave before heading off down the street towards Fenris’ car. Fenris had been drinking steadily – was he even sober enough to drive safely?

He glanced at Hawke. “Was it just me, or is there some hostility between those two?”

“You could say that,” Hawke said. Then he grinned. “Come on, I’ll give you the dirt as we walk.”

Turning, Dorian followed Hawke, Carver and Zevran in the opposite direction. Curious, Dorian prompted the dark-haired man. “So... what happened?”

“They got into a fight,” Hawke revealed. “About politics. About _Tevinter_ politics. Anders started it. I don’t think he realized the can of worms he was opening.”

Dorian recalled Cullen warning him not to speak to Fenris about their homeland. “That didn’t go over too well, I take it.”

Hawke was thoughtful for a moment. “My brother and I... well, let’s just say we’ve known Fenris a long time. There’s some stuff in his past he doesn’t want to talk about.” He cocked his head to give Dorian a warning glance. “I don’t think Anders meant any harm. He’s got his own shit to deal with, but he’s open about it. Personally, I think he read too many self-help books. You know – face your demons, know thyself, embrace the bad. But he doesn’t realize that some people _don’t_ want to talk about it.”

Dorian wondered briefly about that. It sounded like Fenris had run away from something in Tevinter. Like him.

Before Dorian could voice his next question aloud, four different ring tones blipped.

All four men stopped to dig their phones out and flick open the text message.

An alert for a job from the agency.

“Hmm,” Zevran murmured. “I’ll take this one, if no one else is interested.”

Carver raised an eyebrow at the blond. “It’s in Hightown.”

Zevran swiped a finger across the screen. “I’ll call a cab,” he decided, already speed dialing the number of the cab company as he started walking back the other way. “Enjoy the rest of the evening, gentlemen.”

In a few more short blocks, they arrived at the Hawkes. Outside, Dorian studied the door of the hovel where Carver and his brother lived. There were no good parts of Lowtown, but this particular hovel was located on the edge of a large square that was cleaner than most. And certainly nicer than the area where Dorian was currently living.

Hawke jerked his head towards the door. “You want to come in for a nightcap?” he asked. “I’m not sure what Carver has stashed in his room, but I’m sure it’s better than the swill they serve at the Hanged Man.”

There was nothing suggestive about Hawke’s expression or his tone. Dorian wondered: _Am I making friends?_ Other than Sera and Krem, he didn’t have too many people in that category here in Kirkwall. And – Maker – how he missed Felix.

Smiling, Dorian replied warmly. “That sounds positively delightful.”

The inside of the hovel was small, but neat. Dorian learned that the brothers lived with their mother, their uncle and their sister – all of whom were out for the evening. Soft music filled the living room as Carver turned on the stereo and Hawke handed him a cold, already uncapped beer. A glance at the label caused him to chuckle: _Raging Bitch._

“So,” Dorian said as Hawke sank down on the sofa beside him. “I was wondering... do the rent boys ever date each other?”

At that, the brothers exchanged an amused glance.

“Sure, it’s been known to happen,” Carver said from his own chair. He then gave the elder Hawke an amused, knowing grin. “Right, brother?”

Hawke’s lips tightened. Then he grumbled. “It’s just dinner and a movie now and then. You know... normal stuff.”

Perhaps the drinking had slowed Dorian’s mental faculties, for it took him a long moment of reviewing the evening, searching for clues. Then he found what he was looking for – a series of subtle glances between Hawke and the man sitting across from him. Dorian couldn’t quite mask his surprise. “Who...? You mean you and Anders?”

Hawke’s frown deepened. “As I said,” he mumbled, “it’s just dinner and a movie every now and then.” Pausing, Hawke eyed Dorian closely as he took a long swig from his beer bottle. “Speaking of which... if you’re thinking about asking Fenris out – don’t.”

Dorian froze. Yes, he’d spent the evening sneaking peeks at Fenris and Cullen, but he believed he’d been subtle enough that it would go unnoticed. _Apparently not,_ he realized, by the way both Hawkes were looking at him.

He forced his voice to sound normal. “Oh? And why not?”

Carver tossed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “Fenris tends to stay away from relationships,” he said. “Believe me, many have tried.” Carver grinned impishly again. “Right, brother?”

Hawke fixed Carver in a disapproving stare. “Carver,” he growled. “If you don’t shut up, I will punch you in the face.”

Carver – clearly used to his brother’s clearly empty threats – snickered.

Hawke sighed. “You know,” he said to Dorian in a confidential tone, “if I had a hundred dollars for every client that Fenris cut off because the client was having _feelings_... well, I wouldn’t be living in Lowtown.”

So Fenris had shot down Hawke? Hawke was tall, dark, handsome and – Dorian had discovered – rather charming when he wanted to be. So Dorian having a chance with Fenris seemed unlikely.

Perhaps, he thought, it would be better to keep his interest where it might be appreciated.

_Cullen fucking Rutherford._

“I understand.” Dorian smiled. “I’ll certainly keep your warning in mind.”

\------------------------------

A week later, Dorian sat on the edge of Varric’s desk, one leg swinging, as Varric studied the little black notebook he held in both hands, humming thoughtfully. Briefly, he wondered what sort of information Varric kept on paper, when he had a perfectly top-notch computer on the desk before him. Confidential information, perhaps? After all, the brothers’ business activities weren’t exactly _legal._ Though – according to Hawke – the reason that the police didn’t come calling was that the Tethras brothers greased a fair number of palms.

After a moment, Varric carefully closed up his notebook, set it safely in a drawer, and then removed his reading glasses, setting those upon the desk. He smiled up at Dorian.

“So, Sparkles,” he began. “It’s been three weeks since we hired you.”

Dorian wondered where this was going. Varric didn’t call anyone into his office without a reason. “It has,” he agreed in a chipper tone, though mentally he braced himself.

“According to my reports, the clients are very happy with you. Turns out you’re very... companionable.” Varric paused, letting that sink in. “You’ve gotten a lot of requests the past few days from folks who aren’t looking for sex.”

Dorian smiled. “I’m a wonderful conversationalist.”

Varric studied Dorian for a long moment. “Not that I’ve had any complaints about those who do want sex, mind you. But I’m starting to think that we’ve been wasting your true talents.”

Still unsure about where this was going, Dorian only offered an impassive, “Oh?”

Varric gave him another one of those long, assessing looks. Which caused Dorian to brace himself harder. “You know, Sparkles, I think you’d looking quite dashing in a tux. Which is why I’m wondering if you’d be willing to escort women to various functions. Socialite stuff – parties and balls and things like that.”

“No sex?”

“No sex. Just look pretty, make witty banter, and don’t embarrass anyone, especially the woman who’s paying for Tevinter arm candy.”

_Is that all?_ Internally, Dorian heaved a huge sigh of relief. Tapping a fingernail against his teeth, he pretended to think. Get paid to attend fancy balls, look dashing, and be charming? There was no one in the agency better qualified. “I assume that the agency would be paying for the tuxedo?” he asked. “Clearly, I can’t perform my duties without one.”

Varric grumbled mildly a bit, but Dorian left Varric’s office with a letter of credit for one of the finest haberdashers in Hightown in his pocket.

Out in the main room, Dorian found Cullen and Zevran engaged in a game of chess while Alistair watched. Having nothing better to do, Dorian made his way over to the sofa where he slid down into the empty space next to Alistair. The handsome blond man gave him a polite greeting.

Dorian had only spoken to the Ferelden once or twice. Alistair had a goofy sense of humor, but was always a bit soft-spoken and polite. Which made Dorian wonder how Alistair would have managed to satisfy the last client Dorian had serviced, the Chantry boy who had demanded that Dorian pull his hair hard and talk his dirtiest sex talk while he choked down Dorian’s dick like he couldn’t get enough of it.

Dorian smiled slyly at him. “Hello, Alistair. How’s tricks?”

Even that was enough to cause the blond to fluster a little. “Tricks...? Oh, ah.... they’re fine.” He attempted a smile. “You know.... tricky.”

Zevran huffed a little sigh of annoyance. “Gentlemen,” he drawled. “I am trying to gain back some of the dignity that Cullen so ruthlessly tattered in our last game, so please try to refrain from pointless banter.”

Cullen chuckled. Then he glanced up to meet Dorian’s gaze briefly, giving him a sly little wink before returning his attention to the board.

_That look..._ Dorian felt a little bit of warmth flare up in his chest. Or... well, perhaps a bit lower. Yes, setting his sights on Cullen didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. Sex with Cullen had been _good._ Briefly, Dorian considered just inviting the man back to his place for round two.

Four phones blipped. Everyone stopped to dig out their phones and consider the new alert.

“Hmm. A request for a massage with a happy ending,” Cullen voiced aloud. “Who wants it?”

Zevran snorted softly. “Not me,” he said, already locking his phone and slipping it back into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I hate getting someone off if I don’t get off myself.”

Cullen chuckled again. “All work and no orgasm makes Zevran a dull boy.”

Zevran laughed. “You are right about that, my friend. Now – are you staying to finish our game, or not?”

“To be honest,” Cullen said, “I’m not really an expert on massages.”

Dorian smiled. “Well, I am,” he said as he swiped his finger across the screen to accept the job. “In fact, I’ve been told that my hands can work magic.”

Zevran turned in his chair to flash Dorian one of his coyest grins. “Really?” he drawled in a throaty voice, his eyes alight with interest as they slicked all the way down Dorian’s body before slithering back up again. “You know, I may have to test that theory out later.”

\------------------------------

After receiving another envelope of his ill-gotten earnings from Varric, Dorian decided to take the day off and go shopping.

In Hightown.

Dorian had learned his lesson about blowing carelessly through all his funds without considering the repercussions. Not that he was accustomed to being frugal, but he managed to budget his money more responsibly. After setting aside enough money to cover the rent and utilities, he’d gone on a modest spree at the grocery store, buying whatever he wanted without checking prices, so he’d been eating better than usual. He’d also taken an occasional taxi to and from his clients’ abodes. Other than those expenditures, however, he hadn’t spent a dime. Instead, he’d stashed the extra cash – his mad money – under his mattress.

Dorian had been working nonstop, usually servicing several clients a day. After the fourth payday, he realized that he’d managed to amass an impressive stack of cash.

Counting it up, Dorian excitedly considered the possibilities: _Good shoes. New Books. Fine wines._

Dorian considered his illicit savings very seriously for a moment. The temptation to spend it all madly was there. In the end, however, he curbed that impulse by peeling off a few crisp hundred dollar bills which he tucked carefully into his wallet before returning the rest to its unoriginal hiding place.

Dorian had strolled through Hightown on numerous occasions in the past few months, though then, he’d been limited to window shopping only. So he was familiar with all the posher shops that catered to men, and he knew exactly where he was going to buy some new clothes.

The Black Emporium.

The shop was all glass and chrome and well-lit with some smoky jazz oozing from the sound system. Strategically placed faceless manikins made of smooth black plastic showed off the store’s most expensive wares. Ignoring them, Dorian made his way to the racks and began flipping through the shirts, pausing to palm some of the silkier looking fabrics or check a price tag.

He’d never cared much for the act of shopping when he’d lived in Tevinter – unless it was in a bookstore. Of course he kept up on all the latest fashion trends and his exquisite taste meant that he always knew what to wear, but actually going to stores and trying things on wasn’t his favorite activity. Still, he was feeling unusually content and quite relaxed as he stroked the delicious array of velvet, silk and cashmere, contemplating which beautiful article of clothing he would make his. At least until he happened to glance up and recognize the man who stood a few feet away from him, flipping through a different rack.

Fenris.

That white hair dazzled in the bright light. Bright, too, the white ink of his tattoos against his caramel-colored skin. That was the same as always. However, on this day he was dressed differently. Today he wore a tight black military-style jacket with a high collar buttoned to his chin, black ripped-up skinny jeans, and black combat boots. In addition to the overabundance of black, he also wore many silver rings on his fingers, as well as five silver hoops and one silver cuff in his ears.

The effect was so startling that all Dorian could do for a moment was stare.

Which is what he was still doing when Fenris happened to glance up and notice him.

Fenris’ expression did a strange thing. There was a flash of recognition, followed by a small frown of annoyance which quickly smoothed itself out as the white-haired man composed himself. He then nodded a greeting. “Dorian.”

Dorian didn’t let himself be deterred. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said cheerfully, as if they were the best of friends not not barely more than strangers. “Funny, I thought all you did was work.”

Fenris paused. Then he made a vague gesture. “I took the day off.”

“What a coincidence!” Dorian said with a smile. “So did I. And here we are. Clearly we were fated to meet.”

_Fated. Maker, what a ridiculous thing to say..._ but a small smile twitched over Fenris’ lips. “Fated... to shop together?”

Dorian recovered quickly, and decided to pretend that Fenris’ question had been an invitation. “A brilliant idea,” he bubbled, with a touch too much enthusiasm. “We can be each other’s mirror. You can never trust from the shop assistant says – they work on commission, so you could look like a mountain of dead nugs and they’d say you’re ready for the red carpet.”

Fenris’ lips twitched back down.

Completely undaunted, Dorian closed the distance between them, glancing down at the shirt under Fenris’ hand. “So, are you going to try that on? It looks like it would suit you.”

Fenris’ green eyes lingered on Dorian’s face before falling down to the shirt in question. “I was thinking of it,” he admitted. Reluctantly.

“I approve entirely,” Dorian said, already snapping his fingers at the clerk to arrange a changing room. “Bring that. And... was there anything else that caught your eye?” Dorian glanced at the display just to their left – a manikin wearing nothing more than a string of holiday lights wrapped about its neck like a stole, and a pair of somewhat skimpy, black mesh men’s underwear – and smirked. “Perhaps you should try those, as well?”

Fenris snorted. “They’re ridiculous.”

Dorian laughed. He had meant it as a joke, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite get the image of Fenris in sexy black mesh underwear out of his head. Which was a very _distracting_ thought. Fortunately, it was at that moment that the clerk scuttled up to them.

Despite any initial reluctance, Fenris was soon in the spirit of shopping, and both men were soon having fun trying various articles of clothing on, and then posturing for each other – sliding hands casually into pants’ pockets, stroking fingers down a lapel, flicking up a collar. Dorian had even convinced Fenris to try on a hat.

Fenris looked at the offered item skeptically. “I don’t wear fedoras.”

Dorian studied the hat. “Technically it’s a trilby. Not a fedora.” He held it out again. “And it’s a hat, not a marriage proposal. It won’t hurt you to try it on.”

Fenris sighed, then accepted the hat. Brushed back his hair before putting it on. “Well?” he prompted. “What do you think?”

“It looks good,” Dorian said. “I think you should consider wearing more hats.”

Fenris considered his reflection in the nearby mirror. Unconvinced, he removed the hat.

By the time they had finished in the Black Emporium, Dorian was certain that they had tried on at least half the clothing in the store. And, at the register, he had to make an effort to swallow down his pleasure when he noticed that the trilby was among Fenris’ purchases.

Fenris waited while Dorian paid for his own selections, then they were out on the sidewalk.

It was the perfect opportunity for Fenris to make his excuses and leave, Dorian knew. Except that they were having such a wonderful time, and... well, there was his crush on Fenris to contend with. He didn’t want Fenris to go. “I don’t suppose you know of a good place to buy a bottle opener?” he blurted out before Fenris could escape.

One dark eyebrow twitched up. “A bottle opener?” he asked. When Dorian nodded, Fenris made a little humming noise. “Well. If you want something good, Feddic and Son sells the best kitchen wares. You can find them on Lyrium Lane.”

“Lyrium Lane? I don’t know where that is, exactly.”

“It’s not far,” Fenris said. “I’ll show you.”

Dorian graciously accepted the offer, and followed Fenris the few blocks off to the store.

Once inside, Dorian met the younger Feddic – an odd little man, but very nice – who helped Dorian pick out not only a nifty little one-handed bottle opener, but also a beautiful little stovetop espresso maker, and a set of clear glass and metal wire cups to go with it. He made a mental note to buy himself some decent coffee later. Perhaps something Antivan.

On the sidewalk again, Dorian smiled at Fenris. “You know, I saw a coffee shop nearby,” Dorian said smoothly. “Could I buy you a latte or something? As a token of my appreciation for your help.”

Fenris paused, shifting the bag in his hand. Clearly considering it. “I suppose...” he said. “If we can sit outside.”

Dorian smiled wider. “Well, it is a beautiful day for it.”

A few minutes later they were sitting outside the coffee shop in Viscount Terrace, Fenris with a tall cup of chai, Dorian with a vanilla latte, as the sun splashed down in the square, causing the flecks of feldspar in the paving stones to shimmer like a million little stars. A light breeze gently ruffled the ends of Fenris’ blindingly white hair, and Dorian admired him as he absentmindedly tucked a lock behind his ear. Then Fenris glanced up.

Caught staring again, Dorian smiled. “This emo thing you have going,” he said. “It’s rather different from what I’ve seen you wear before.”

Fenris’ fingers traced over the seam of the paper cup on the tiny table before him. Long fingers. Elegant. “It pays to dress well for work,” he said. “When I’m not working, I wear whatever I please.”

“You know,” Dorian teased, “if you’re trying to get the ‘troubled youth’ look down, then you’re doing brilliantly.”

Fenris regarded him indifferently for a moment. Then he casually fished around inside a pocket, withdrawing a pack of Sobranie Back Russians and a Zippo. Practiced fingers snapped the flint to life. Tobacco hissed and crackled as Fenris inhaled, a curl of smoke twisting like a Chinese dragon before dissipating into the air. Snapping the lighter shut, Fenris gave Dorian a cool look. “As if you know anything about having a troubled past.”

He’d had no idea that Fenris was a smoker. _Ugh. Gross._ He made an effort to keep the disgust from showing on his face. Instead he smiled somewhat sardonically. “You don’t know anything about my past.”

Fenris took a long drag off his cigarette. Black paper, but with a shiny gold filter against his lips. Blowing out smoke, Fenris let his wrist hang limp, smoke curling through his hair. “Your father is Halward Pavus,” he said, matter-of fact. “CEO of Black Divine Solutions. You’re from the richest family in Qarinus.”

Dorian blinked. Strangely, he felt like he’d just been rudely and unexpectedly outed. “So... then you Googled me?”

Ash slowly sprinkled down to the ground as Fenris flicked his cigarette. “I like to know who I’m working with.”

Dorian bristled. He didn’t know he felt that flicker of annoyance, but he was certain that the look Fenris was giving him was pure disapproval. “Just because my family has money, it –” he began, but then stopped himself. Why did he feel compelled to defend himself? To defend _that man?_

Fenris continued to regard him in the same detached, almost clinical manner. “What I want to know,” he said in a low voice, “is if your family is so rich, then what are you doing in Kirkwall, fucking men for money?”

Dorian’s wall immediately shot up. Mask on. “I like fucking men,” he said, voice airy as if he hadn’t a care in the world, “and money is useful.”

In response, Fenris merely snorted.

Dorian leaned forward in his chair. “How about this, then? I’ll tell you that, if you tell me why you left Minrathous.”

Green eyes instantly narrowed. Fenris studied him for a long moment, wary. Then he took another drag before speaking. “Never mind,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

The silence sat with them as they sipped their drinks. Silence that uncurled slowly and stretched itself out like a cat. Dorian pondered the many things he could say that would break the tension. After all, as he’d told Varric, he was an exceptional conversationalist. But, in the end, he blurted out the one question that was threatening to burn up his entire being. “Is this a date?”

Fenris nearly choked on his drink. Setting down his cup, he gave Dorian a look so sharp it could have cut glass.

“I mean...” Dorian amended quickly, “shopping, coffee... it could be a date.”

“I told you at the Hanged Man. I don’t have time to date.”

“Well, you had time for coffee.”

A small flicker of a smile quirked up Fenris’ lips. The last thing Dorian had expected, really, but absolutely delightful. “It’s just coffee, Pavus.”

Maker, this elf... Somehow, Dorian knew that saying anything else would be pushing his luck. Still, he’d made Fenris smile, so that was _something._

Dorian smiled and lifted his cup, tilting it towards Fenris in a mock toast.

“To coffee,” he said.

 


	8. Rogers and Hart Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets a surprise visit at Krem's gym.

The slap of the wooden paddle as it contacted flesh resounded through the well-appointed and well-lit loft, sending particles of dust swirling through the bright patches of light falling through the tall, curtain-free windows.

_Crack!_

The man on his knees jerked forward, a cry wrested from his lips. “Ah!” Swinging his hips back, his fingers dug deeper into the plush pile of the rug below him, bracing himself for the next blow. Over his shoulder, his blue eyes pleaded with Dorian. “Again.”

Dorian adjusted his grip on the paddle. Drew his arm back. Hesitated just for a moment, letting the anticipation build before bringing the paddle back down to strike again.

_Crack!_

Sebastian gasped. Shuddering, he twisted his fingers tighter into the rug, back arching as he pushed back against the paddle, hungry for more.

Dorian drew his arm back again. Sebastian was one of his repeat customers, so Dorian knew perfectly well what was expected of him in this scenario. Spanking and dirty talk. _Rather ridiculous, really,_ Dorian thought as he contemplated the increasing redness of Sebastian’s offered buttocks. But it was his job to please the client, and – judging by Sebastian’s erection, which was now quivering hard and leaking – the client _was_ pleased.

_Crack!_

At Sebastian’s little whimper, Dorian chuckled darkly. “You like that, don’t you?” he murmured. “You naughty little slut.”

Sebastian whimpered again. “More... Dorian... please – _uh!”_ he begged, his pleas suddenly cut off as the paddle smacked hard and hot across his backside, causing more waves of delicious pain to jolt through his flesh.

This wasn’t the first time Sebastian had asked Dorian to spank him, so Dorian also knew how this was going to end – namely, with his cock in Sebastian’s mouth. Funny how many men were willing to pay to suck _his_ cock. Though, according to the other boys, this was actually rather common, and the reason why Anders had recently slipped Dorian a bottle of Viagra just so he’d always be ‘prepared.’

After a few more whacks with the paddle, Sebastian’s buttocks were a brilliant shade of red like a baboon’s, and he was ready to move on to stage two. Fortunately, Dorian wasn’t entirely unprepared. The scenario may have been ridiculous, however nothing about Sebastian was a turn-off. The man had a gorgeous face, a wickedly sinful body, and – in truth – having a man on his knees, begging like that... well, there was something intriguing in how powerful that felt. So by the time Sebastian turned and reached for him, Dorian was mostly hard.

Dorian grew harder, his breath quickening as Sebastian greedily ate his cock as though he were starving. Knowing that a little roughness wouldn’t be unwelcome, Dorian slipped his fingers into Sebastian’s lank, dark hair, gripping the man’s head tightly as he jabbed in deeper, fucking Sebastian’s face. In response, the younger man moaned delightfully around him, one hand digging into Dorian’s sweat-slick hip as the other darted down between his own legs to grasp his own swollen member, jerking it in time with Dorian’s thrusts.

Dorian may not have enjoyed the spanking very much, but Sebastian’s unbridled enthusiasm at sucking him off was rather effective.

“That’s it,” Dorian cooed, half-breathless. “Take it, whore. Suck all of my big, hard cock. Make me shoot my come down your pretty throat.”

Sebastian groaned again. Between his own legs, his hand pumped faster. He increased his efforts, saliva dribbling as he sucked harder, half-choking as Dorian forced himself deeper into his mouth.

Dorian could feel the need for release rising fast. Maker, he was close. He only managed a few more jabs into Sebastian’s mouth before he came, his vision swimming as Sebastian swallowed around him, milking exquisite pleasure out of his cock along with his seed.

A moment later, Sebastian drew back, body twitching with shuddering breaths as he spilled his own seed across his thigh and over the rug.

For a moment, there was only the silence filled by the sound of their slowing breath.

Then Dorian reached out a hand. Sebastian accepted it, wincing a bit as he rose to his feet. “I’ll clean up,” he said, voice mostly steady. “Just give me a moment.”

“Of course,” Dorian said.

Dorian was already dressed by the time Sebastian returned. He was barefoot, but he’d put on some loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he’d run a comb through his hair. Maker, the man really was handsome. Too bad that – unlike Dorian – his tastes were so perverse. Which – according to Zevran – was the result of being raised in such a strict Andrastian house.

Apparently the program hadn’t been able to pray Sebastian’s gay away either.

Sebastian walked Dorian to the door. There, he offered Dorian a somewhat guilty smile as he slipped something into Dorian’s jacket pocket. “I’ll call you,” he said.

Dorian smiled warmly in return. “Well, you do know the number.”

Sebastian nodded once. Then he ushered Dorian out, quietly closing the door behind him.

Once he was safely ensconced in the elevator, Dorian reached into his pocket to see what Sebastian had given him. Unsurprisingly, he caught the flash of green before he saw the denomination of the bill.

Well. Sebastian may have been a bit perverse, but – thank the Maker – he was a very good tipper.

\-----------------------------------

“You want me to spot you?”

Dorian’s attention was like a Pomeranian set loose in the dog park – reluctant to be called back to heel. He wasn’t sure why that was. Perhaps because he’d opted to service two clients the night before instead of doing the wise thing, which would have been catching up on sleep. At the time he’d justified it – _I can sleep when I’m dead_ – but when the alarm had gone off that morning, he’d almost called Krem to say that he wasn’t coming to the gym. Except that leaving Krem in the lurch would have been as asshole thing to do.

“Hmm?” Dorian murmured as his eyes finally fell on Krem’s face.

“You keep looking at the barbells,” Krem said. “It ain’t like it’s Grand Central Station here, so if you feel like working out, I’ll spot you.”

True, it was quiet in the gym, though Dorian hadn’t really been thinking about a workout. Still, it had been a while since he’d actually used the equipment. “If you’re certain you don’t mind, then I’d be delighted to take you up on your offer.”

At that, Krem smirked. “You realize, right?” he asked. When Dorian regarded him blankly, Krem added, “It’s obvious by the way you talk that you come from money. Especially when you speak Tevene.”

Not using Tevene had been a mostly unspoken condition set by Krem when they’d first met, despite the fact they were countrymen. And even though Dorian sometimes missed being able to use his native tongue, he was now living in the South, and hadn’t really questioned Krem’s reluctance to speak it. “And – when have you ever heard me speak Tevene?”

Krem’s expression became rueful. “On the phone with your friend. What’s his name? Felix.”

Dorian blinked. He’d only spoken to Felix on the phone once while at work. And he hadn’t realized that Krem had been listening. Usually Dorian said whatever he pleased to Felix, secure in the knowledge that no one around him would understand. Now he was half-panic as he realized that his private conversation with his best friend had been less than private. Maker, what had he said? Had he talked about all the men he’d fucked? Or that he got paid to do it?

Such were Dorian’s thoughts as he followed Krem to the other side of the gym, where Krem watched him as he did a few warm-up stretches. Sitting down on the bench, he glanced curiously up at the redhead. “You know, Cremisius – I’m surprised you haven’t said anything before now.”

Krem shrugged. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it ain’t my business.”

Perhaps then, Krem hadn’t Googled him. Unlike a certain twink. “So you don’t want to know why someone like me left Tevinter to, as they say, ‘slum it’ here in Kirkwall.”

Krem shrugged again. “If you wanted to tell me, you would,” he said. Then he cocked his head. “Course, it ain’t too hard to guess,” he said. “Being gay in Tevinter ain’t easy. I suspect that your family wasn’t exactly too happy when they found out.”

Dorian felt a strange little twist in his heart. Why did just the thought of his father’s disapproval still hurt him so? “Ah,” he murmured. “Yes, that’s pretty much it.”

“Thought so,” Krem murmured, somewhat sympathetically. Then, “You gonna keep yapping? Or you gonna bench some iron?”

Dorian chuckled, then positioned himself properly on the bench. Krem moved to stand behind his head. Feet flat on the floor, Dorian drew a breath as he reached up for the bar, squeezing his shoulder blades and tightening his upper back before he unracked it. Drawing another breath, he slowly straightened his arms to lift the bar.

Apparently, Krem had no criticism about his form, for the gym owner remained silent and vigilant as Dorian performed five sets of five reps. By the time Krem helped him place the bar back down on the safety pins, Dorian was slightly sweaty from exertion, and he could feel the burn down his arms, his shoulders and into his pecs. Sitting up again, he caught the towel Krem threw at him, and dabbed at the sweat on his face.

Lowering the towel, he looked at Krem curiously again. “Krem?” he ventured. “If you don’t mind my asking... what made you leave Tevinter?”

Krem lightly snorted something that resembled a laugh. “Same reason as you, I guess,” he said. “I didn’t want to live my life pretending to be something I’m not.”

“You mean pretending to be a woman,” Dorian said, then immediately realized how silly that question was. Though, in his defense, he still hadn’t had any indication of Krem’s sexuality yet, so it was possible that Krem wasn’t straight, which could have been another reason why he’d left Tevinter.

“Yeah,” Krem said. “It never really felt right. So when I was sixteen...” Krem trailed off, his gaze distant. “Well, that’s the last time I wore a dress.”

Dorian blinked. Honestly, if Krem hadn’t told him about being transgender up front, Dorian would never have guessed. Everything about Krem read _male_ – his looks, his voice, everything. He certainly couldn’t even begin to imagine a younger Krem wearing a dress. Was all this masculinity the result of hormone therapy? Dorian was quite curious, but before he could ask, the door to the gym opened, and a tall, well-dressed blond man stepped in.

Cullen Rutherford.

The elegant escort stepped in, smiling as his gaze found Dorian. “So it’s true, then,” he said casually. “I heard a rumor that you were working in a gym.”

Dorian felt a little flare of panic. Sometimes he felt like he was some sort of secret agent, leading a double life – the seedy one as a male prostitute, and the other normal one where he supplied clean towels to sweaty men for minimum wage.

On second thought – servicing sweaty men? Kind of the same thing. really.

“I wonder where you heard such a rumor,” Dorian said smoothly as he pushed himself off the bench. “Oh, don’t tell me – Zevran. He has friends in low places.”

Cullen smirked. “Right on the money.”

 _Fucking Zevran._ Tossing his towel over his shoulder, Dorian approached the counter where Cullen stood. “Well, you found me out,” Dorian said lightly. “Cullen, this is Krem. My boss. Krem, this is a friend of mine. Cullen.”

The men’s eyes swept slowly over each other before they gave each other a polite but rather brusque greeting. Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to make of the entire exchange, at least until Krem announced that he’d be in the office and then disappeared, and Cullen gave Dorian an almost inquisitive look. “So, that’s your boss?” Cullen asked in a low voice. “He’s very... good-looking.”

 _Oh._ Cullen thought Krem was attractive. That explained one half of the exchange, anyway. “Yes, well... I’m not sure which way he swings, if you’re interested.”

Smiling, Cullen leaned against the counter. “To tell the truth... redheads aren’t really my thing.”

“Oh?” Dorian asked. “Then what is your thing?”

“Exotic.”

Okay, Cullen was definitely flirting with him. Not that this scenario was anything new. In fact, Dorian felt like it was getting quite old. “Is that what brings you all the way down here to Lowtown? A quest for the exotic?”

Cullen’s eyes did a different little sweep – this time of Dorian, as if it were a hot day and Dorian were an ice cream float that he could suck up through a straw. “Actually, I did just finish a meeting with a client,” he admitted. “But, since I’m here... what time do you get off?”

By Cullen’s smirk, his innuendo was entirely intended. Dorian actually paused. Flirting was fine and all, but he’d been flirting with Cullen for _weeks_ now. And Dorian – accustomed to getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it – was not exactly a _patient_ man.

Smiling, Dorian ran a hand through his hair, and let his hand trail slowly down his neck, giving Cullen what he knew to be his most sultry look. “I just have one question,” Dorian drawled. “Do you enjoy wasting my time, or is this going anywhere?”

Cullen’s gaze was all warm, inviting honey. His voice low, nearly a seductive husk. “It could go to my place, if you want it to.”

A little thrill shot through Dorian’s body as his heart beat a little faster. Maker, how long he’d been waiting for this. Cullen Rutherford, all to himself. No clients, no cameras, no demands.

Dorian sucked in a soft breath, and he was unable to stop the pleased grin from uncoiling across his lips.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said.

\-----------------------------------

A breathless curse escaped Dorian’s lips as Cullen slammed him up against the wall.

 _Maker, he’s strong,_ Dorian thought. But as Cullen hooked his arms more securely under Dorian’s knees and then began to lower and raise Dorian over his cock, all ability to think fled clean out the window. All Dorian could do was lock his arms behind Cullen’s neck and hold on for the ride of his life.

Arriving at Cullen’s apartment down near the Docks, they hadn’t wasted any more time flirting. Instead, Cullen had captured Dorian’s hand in his own, then led him straight to the bedroom. His palm against Dorian’s shoulder, Cullen had pushed him gently down so that he was sitting on the edge of the messy, unmade bed. Leaning down, Cullen had placed a hand solidly against the back of his neck, then kissed him once, passionately and with a hint of possessiveness, like the last time he’d kissed Dorian at Bull’s.

Dorian felt his blood surge as Cullen drew back, the familiar sly smirk playing on his gorgeous lips, before he murmured his fateful question.

_Dorian. Do you like it... rough?_

Dorian swallowed. Whatever Cullen was offering – he wanted it. Ached for it. Not trusting his voice, he vigorously nodded.

Cullen continued to smile down at him. It was brief, but it was in that moment that Dorian saw it. Some dark thing in Cullen, something he kept hidden.

 _Good,_ Cullen purred. Then reached for Dorian.

Dorian was not a stranger to rough sex. He’d had a bad experience once, with a man he’d met while in grad school, at a party. He hadn’t really known the man, but he was a friend of a friend, so Dorian had let the man come back to the apartment near campus that his father was paying for. They’d been drinking at the party, and once they’d started, things had gotten a little _too_ rough. If Dorian had been any drunker, things probably would have gone even worse. As it was, the evening had ended with Dorian tossing the man physically out of his apartment, then checking the locks on his door twice before he stood, half-naked and shaking, in front of the bathroom mirror, wincing at the sting of peroxide as he cleaned the laceration the man’s ring had left upon his face. Since then, Dorian had been a little more careful about the men he brought home.

Cullen, however, was nothing like that man. And when Cullen seized him by the arms and forced him down to the bed, Dorian happily submitted.

He’d already decided. _Whatever Cullen wants._ Dorian was a ragdoll, as Cullen roughly pulled at his clothes and tossed them carelessly aside, leaving him naked and vulnerable under the blond’s scorching gaze. He was clay, being molded into whatever position the blond wanted. First on his knees as Cullen withdrew his hard, heavy cock, fingers gripping Dorian’s head into place as he rammed it into Dorian’s mouth, making shallow, hard thrusts at first, then experimentally plunging deeper to see how much of it Dorian could take. Done fucking his face, Cullen then arranged him on the bed, chest down and ass in the air.

Cullen then withdrew. By now, Dorian was immersed in his role as Cullen’s plaything, so he didn’t dare lift his head to look, not even when he heard the rustle of fabric, and the soft clink of Cullen’s belt as it hit the floor. Naked and exposed, Dorian waited, the anticipation thick in his throat, as he heard the soft slide of a drawer being pulled out. A moment later he heard Cullen’s footsteps grow louder, and then a small bottle landed on the bed near his head.

He’d seen this particular bottle before, at Bull’s.

Cullen’s voice was husky and dark. _Prepare yourself for me._

An electric spark jolted through Dorian’s body. With a shaky hand, he popped the lid of the bottle open, and then, fingers dripping, reached back to touch his own entrance.

His fingers swirled around the outside once before he slipped one in, swirling again to let the lube coat the inside. Pulling his index finger out, he then inserted the still freshly-oiled middle finger. As he pushed it in a bit deeper, he heard Cullen’s hitch of breath, and he realized that Cullen was watching him do this. Perhaps he was even touching himself.

 _Fuck, that’s hot._ Dorian could only imagine how wanton he must look like this, on the bed on his knees with his ass clearly on display for the other man as he fingered himself. Did Cullen want a show? Dorian couldn’t imagine any reason why he wouldn’t. If the roles had been reversed, Dorian would have very much enjoyed watching Cullen do this.

Determined to please, Dorian withdrew his hand. Once he’d applied more lube, he stretched his arm back again, this time working two oiled fingers into his hole. Pushed them in as far as he could, given the somewhat awkward position, then slid them nearly all the way back out again. In and out, Dorian fucked himself with his fingers.

Removing his hand, he waited, ready for Cullen to claim him.

A moment passed, then Cullen reached down to pick up the bottle. Another moment passed and then Dorian felt the mattress below him shift with Cullen’s weight as he climbed up on the bed. Dorian shivered as Cullen’s fingers ghosted along his spine, then he was bunching the bed sheets up in both fists as he felt the tip of Cullen’s cock slide up and into place.

He’d agreed to let Cullen be rough with him. So he expected that Cullen would take him the same way. He rather expected that it would hurt. Therefore he was surprised when Cullen didn’t just ram his way in.

Instead, Cullen teased him. Brushing lightly up against the outside for a few moments, before he finally started pushing in. So slow it was almost torturous. Dorian wanted it so badly that by the time the tip of Cullen’s cock slipped past the resisting ring of muscle, Dorian actually let out a little moan of relief. Then held his breath as Cullen stayed still, not moving.

Maker, it was torture. He nearly moaned again as Cullen pulled back a little before pushing back in. He did this over and over, slowly working his way in, inch by inch. Then, Dorian nearly sobbed at the sudden loss as Cullen unexpectedly pulled all the way out. He felt Cullen shift on the bed, then the click of the cap on the lube. A few seconds later, Cullen was kneeling behind him again, once again guiding himself back to Dorian’s hole.

A small nudge, and then with an easy thrust, Cullen plunged nearly all the way back in, forcing an animal noise out of Dorian’s throat.

For a long moment, Cullen was still again. Then Dorian made another animal sound as Cullen began to move inside him, setting him on fire with a few slow, experimental thrusts.

Then Cullen was leaning over him, close to his ear. _I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart,_ he murmured, and just that promise, in that sweet, husky voice, was enough to cause Dorian to quiver all over. _Tell me if it becomes too much._

Dorian murmured something in response. He wasn’t sure it was _please_ or _fuck me_ or just some curse in Tevene, or some combination thereof, but Cullen took it as permission. Cullen’s hand clamped down on the back of Dorian’s neck, shoving his face down into the mattress. Pinned down, Dorian could only twist the sheets more tightly as Cullen began to pound into him in earnest.

Maker, this. The way Cullen fucked him hard hurt a little, but the hurt felt good. Held down in a submissive position, Dorian couldn’t do anything but take it. Released from having to reciprocate, he was free to fully focus on the sensation of Cullen’s thick cock pumping inside him. Every wicked, sinful thrust.

He was vaguely aware of Cullen’s soft grunts and rapid breaths as the blond continued to pound into him. Fuck, it felt so good. Fuck, he felt like he might come, just from the stimulation of Cullen battering against his prostate. Clenching the sheets, words in Tevene dribbled out from his lips.

 _This... yes.... this..._ Maker, it was so much better than anything he’d imagined. Even better than the time they’d done it for Bull.

 _Dorian, you’re amazing,_ Cullen breathed. _Maker’s breath, come here._

Cullen’s hand was suddenly off his neck. Hands pulling him out of the bed, onto shaky legs. And then Dorian yelped as Cullen hoisted him up, angling his body just so, before slamming Dorian into the wall.

Cullen’s thrusts were coming faster, more frenzied. More than anything, Dorian wanted to come. With Cullen, or before him – at the point he didn’t really care. Except that in this position, hanging onto Cullen’s shoulders, he couldn’t touch himself. As for Cullen, both his arms were locked under Dorian’s knees, keeping him aloft.

Suddenly Cullen jerked Dorian all the way down. Hips twitching, fingers digging into the sides of Dorian’s thighs, as he came, Cullen huffed staggering breaths into Dorian’s ear.

It took Dorian’s brain a long time to form a coherent thought.

Finally it struck him.

 _He came without me,_ he thought – admittedly, somewhat selfishly. _That bastard._

Worse, after Cullen had peeled him off the wall and lowered him to the bed, he murmured something about being right back before slipping out of the room, snapping off the used condom as he went.

Leaving Dorian alone. With a raging hard-on.

Dorian stared down at his unflagging erection. Was he supposed to take care of this by himself? He was having some rather unkind thoughts about Cullen when the man in question returned, and sat down next to him on the bed. Then, as Cullen’s fingers trailed lightly up his highly sensitive member, Dorian nearly jumped off the bed.

Upon Cullen’s lips – that playful smirk. “You have a gorgeous cock.”

Dorian knew that, of course. Lightly he murmured his challenge. “So glad you like it. But perhaps you might like to take a much closer, more intimate look?”

Cullen chuckled softly. “Your request is reasonable.” Still smiling, he reached over to the drawer on the bedside table to withdraw a small, purple object. Smooth, it was vaguely phallic, but with a slight curvature. Catching Dorian’s curious look, Cullen asked, “Have you ever used a vibrator before?”

 _A vibrator? How interesting._ “I thought those were for women.”

“Not this one,” Cullen said, climbing back onto the bed, and shifting so that he was in-between Dorian’s legs. As he applied some of the lube to the toy, he offered Dorian another smile. “You should try it. You might like it.”

At this point, Dorian was harder than a brick wall, and would have been willing to try just about anything.

His hands behind his head, Dorian luxuriated in the feel of Cullen’s hot mouth as he lazily sucked his way up and down Dorian’s cock. Stifled a soft moan as Cullen inserted the toy deep enough that it now pressed against his now swollen prostate. Maker, the combined stimulation was enough to tumble Dorian back towards the brink of an orgasm. He thought that no sensation could ever surpass this pleasure.

At least until Cullen turned the vibrator on.

It was too much. Dorian had already been close. In less than thirty seconds, the incessant pulse of the vibrator drove him over the edge. No – not drove. It was more like he’d been brutally swept up by an angry tsunami and catapulted over the edge. Hips bucking wildly, Dorian came harder than he’d ever come in his entire life.

For a long time he floated, brainless and boneless, scarcely aware as Cullen withdrew briefly to set the toy aside before returning to lie down beside Dorian on the bed.

“Good, was it?”

Maker, Dorian could hear the smirk in Cullen’s voice. “That was rather... intense.” Stirring, Dorian shifted, opening his eyes to look at the blond. “Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve that I should know about?”

In response, Cullen merely smiled. For a moment they looked at each other, then Cullen lifted a hand and set it on Dorian’s shoulder, caressing it with unexpected gentleness. “Thank you, Dorian.”

Maker, he was gorgeous. More so naked in the aftermath of sex, with his perfect hair for once completely out of place. “For what?”

“For letting me have what I wanted for a change,” Cullen said. “In this line of work... it’s always about pleasing the client. Doing what you’re told...”

Was that a note of wistfulness in Cullen’s voice? Were they having a moment? If so, Dorian could think of worse things. He smiled teasingly. “So you’d rather be giving the orders in bed, is that it?”

Again the playful smirk. “And you seemed to enjoy following them.”

“I like different things.”

Cullen continued to look at him warmly, as his hand stroked Dorian’s shoulder once more before he let his fingers trail down Dorian’s collarbone, coming to rest upon his chest.

This was a moment. Definitely a moment. Dorian found that he rather liked the idea of his relationship with Cullen going somewhere. But he didn’t want to rush things, either. “So,” he said carefully. “Does this mean you might like to do this again?”

Cullen regarded him for a moment. Then his expression became curious. “Don’t you have a crush on Fenris?”

 _Fenris._ Funny how Dorian had forgotten about him. “Ah, well...” he said. “I don’t know if I’d call it a crush exactly...”

Cullen continued to regard him curiously. Perhaps with a touch of skepticism? But he was clearly waiting for Dorian to say more.

Dorian wasn’t sure what to say. Yes, he did feel an attraction to Fenris. But he also felt a very real, and very sexual attraction to the man currently lying in the bed next to him.

_It’s just coffee, Pavus._

“Really,” Dorian said lightly. “I admit that he is rather pretty, but... I can’t see it actually going anywhere.”

“Ah,” Cullen said. Then he offered Dorian a smile. “At least you’re realistic.”

\-----------------------------------

On the floor where it lay charging, Dorian’s phone blipped.

He’d finally gotten around to changing the sound for text alerts from the agency. Not that he received many texts other than from Felix. And he’d already spent a leisurely hour that very afternoon actually speaking with Felix on the phone. Felix had filled him in on the latest gossip, and about his father’s recent poor health. Felix’s father had always treated Dorian kindly, so he was genuinely relieved to hear that Gereon Alexius’ bypass surgery had gone well, and that the man was on the mend. As for Dorian, he hadn’t quite been able to stop himself from mentioning something about Cullen Rutherford every five minutes or so.

He hadn’t spoken of Fenris, though. After his passion-filled night with Cullen, Dorian had become resolute. Fenris wasn’t interested in him, therefore – he told himself, almost convincingly – that he wasn’t interested in Fenris. If he was going to pursue any man, it wouldn’t be a twink. Even if he were a well-read twink.

Dorian was comfortably nestled in his bed, reading a book, so he almost didn’t reach for his phone. He hadn’t planned on working tonight, anyway. He’d heard from Sera earlier, who’d suggested that they go to that funky little cinema with the couches not far from Red Jenny’s.

But Dorian couldn’t ignore the phone. Once it signaled him, like Pavlov’s dog, he began to salivate with the thirst to know. Sighing with disgust at himself, Dorian leaned down over the edge of the bed and scooped up his phone.

It was an alert for a threesome, so two escorts would be needed. Skimming the pertinent details, Dorian decided he wasn’t interested. He was just about to set his phone down when it blipped again.

It was the same job for the threesome, only now it had updated because one of the other boys had accepted it. Mildly curious, Dorian checked the name of the escort.

_Fenris._

A threesome with Fenris. Suddenly, he forgot all about his resolution to forget about the man. He forgot about the good time he’d had with Cullen, who’d said that maybe, just _maybe_ , they could do it again. Betrayed by his own brain, he could only think that this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, even though he hadn’t known it.

The details about the job, however...

Determined, Dorian read over the details of the job again. How bad could it be? Just because he wasn’t very experienced in certain matters, didn’t make him incapable of doing the job. Certainly this was something that a man of his wit and charm could handle.

Dorian’s finger hovered indecisively for a moment over the screen.

Then he swiped yes.

 


	9. How Fucking Romantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on a job with Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus. Life has been crazy. But I did write a few more chapters on this story, so more updates coming soon!

Within thirty seconds of Dorian’s accepting the job for the threesome, his phone rang.

Unsurprisingly, it was Varric.

The conversation lasted a solid ten minutes. That was unusual – after all, one of Varric’s favorite phrases was _time is money_. However, once Dorian had reassured his pimp that he hadn’t accepted on accident, Varric gave him as much information as he could, along with some advice, and instructions to meet Fenris outside of the building whose address Varric would text him. Sure enough, within a few seconds of hanging up, Dorian received the anticipated text with the client’s first name and address, ending with Varric’s customary sign-off of _byocl_. Varric short-speak for _bring your own condoms and lube._

Not that Dorian went anywhere without those, or the Viagra.

Dorian stared at the screen of his phone until it went blank. Then he tossed it aside, wondering exactly what he was going to wear. He would shower first, of course, but Varric had assured him that anal was not required, which meant that at least he could skip the customary preparations.

Since he had time, he tried to finish the chapter he’d been reading, but he couldn’t keep his attention focused on the page. Instead his mind keep wandering. Wondering.

_Threesome. With Fenris._

The idea was far too intriguing. He decided it prudent to jack off in the shower, and allowed himself to explore that fantasy a little. Hands on tawny skin. Hot mouth. Throbbing cocks. It steadied his nerves somewhat.

Relaxed, groomed to perfection and dressed to the nines, he caught a cab to the address Varric had given him.

The building was modern, an immaculate monolith of sandstone hedged by lilac bushes and roses. A few yards away from the manned door, Fenris was already waiting for him. Dorian wasn’t entirely sure what Fenris was going to be wearing, but he was dressed impeccably in a basic black suit, with a bright tangerine button-down beneath, no tie. And over his shoulder, a leather satchel.

To Dorian’s enthusiastic greeting, Fenris just offered a nod. Grudgingly.

_My mother gave warmer greetings to her worst enemies,_ Dorian thought. Undaunted, Dorian continued to smile. “So... have you had this client before?”

“I have,” Fenris said. Cool as the Frostbacks, his eyes narrowed. “Have you ever dommed before?”

_Not even in the slightest._ Dorian forced himself to remain chipper. “No, but Varric said –”

Fenris snorted.

Funny how much disdain the man had just managed to pack into such a tiny little sound. Dorian would have been impressed, had Fenris’ disgust been aimed at someone else. His confidence suddenly crushed, he stumbled over his words. “– that, ah, you’d be, uh, in charge,” he finished lamely.

Fenris continued to stare at him – though it really felt more like a glare – for another moment. Then he sighed. “Just do what I tell you,” he finally said. “And keep in mind that it’s really the client who is in charge. We’re giving him what _he_ wants, and he can stop it at any time. So don’t make a fool out of yourself.”

Maker, what was he getting himself into? Trepidation had returned, as a strange little knot in the bottom of Dorian’s stomach. Ignoring it, he nodded gravely at Fenris. “Understood.”

Fenris didn’t seem convinced. But he just gestured at Dorian to follow him. Into the building, through a lobby with gold-flecked mirrors covering one entire wall, into the elevator and to the fifth floor.

The man who opened the door was stunning. Golden hair worn a bit long and swept back, brushing over his collar. Bright blue eyes and model-perfect bone structure. Shirt and slacks both tight enough to highlight the fact that the man was slim, but quite fit.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he said, his heavy accent all Orlesian ear candy. His gaze flicked up, over Fenris’ shoulder. “You must be Dorian. I’m Michel.” Before Dorian could reply, Michel opened the door wider as his gaze fell back to Fenris. “We’ll talk after, yes?”

Dorian trotted in behind Fenris. As Michel closed the door, Fenris dropped his bag on the floor before he flopped down on the couch. Uncertain, Dorian sank down on the empty space beside him.

Fenris sat, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was somewhere between angry and bored. As Michel stepped closer, Fenris’ gaze slashed across him. “Cocksucker,” Fenris ordered, voice like ice. “Go get us some beers.”

Michel pulled up short. Then, demurely, he lowered his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

Still uncertain, Dorian watched with wonder as Michel scampered out of the room. Then, a moment later, the blond returned with two bottles of uncapped beer.

Dorian accepted one. Then, quiet, he let his eyes drift between the client and his companion, and hoped his expression wasn’t giving away his uncertainty.

Fenris took a slow swig. Glass clacked against his teeth. His gaze never strayed from Michel. “Get on your knees,” Fenris ordered. “And don’t speak until I give you permission.”

Silent and meek, Michel sank down to his knees on the rug before them.

Dorian didn’t know what to do. But he’d agreed to follow Fenris’ lead. He took a sip of beer. A fruity pale ale, quite light and refreshing.

Fenris took another slow swig, then turned to face him. “I finished _Pale Fire,”_ he said, his tone now conversational. “It was really quite... remarkable.”

Dorian couldn’t help but smile. “I’m very glad you liked it.”

“I did,” Fenris said. “Though I wonder... Kinbote... did he kill himself after?”

Dorian paused. “Well, Nabokov – in an interview – said that Kinbote did indeed commit suicide after he finished the book. Personally, I think there were definite hints in the text. Subtle, but...”

Fenris nodded as if grateful to have this affirmation of his suspicion. “I would like to read it again. But not yet.”

“Yes, it is the sort of book that would benefit from a second reading.”

Fenris looked thoughtful as he casually balanced the bottle on his knee, turning it once. “What would you recommend I read next?”

A million dollar question that. _Pnin_ was certainly a reasonable choice, though from what he knew of Fenris’ taste in literature, he’d probably enjoy _Ada, or Ardor_ much more. Also, the latter was Dorian’s personal second favorite of Nabokov’s novels, though he did secretly have a fond spot for _Bend Sinister._ Not Nabokov’s best, but something about the odd little novel spoke to him. With that clever little last line: _A good night for mothing._

Dorian became so enthusiastic about this discussion that he almost forgot about the man who was obediently kneeling before the sofa in silence. At least until he spoke up, interrupting their conversation.

“Master? May I please see you and your friend without your clothes on?”

All of Fenris’ previous joviality vanished in that instant. Dorian almost heard the bones in Fenris’ neck snap as he whipped his head around. Before Dorian could even think to react, Fenris’ hand darted out quicker than an attacking cobra. The sound of the resulting slap seemed extremely loud, and resonated in the ensuing silence.

Still somewhat gobsmacked, Dorian sat somewhat perplexed about what had just happened, even as the color on Michel’s cheek rose from where Fenris had struck him.

Cold anger burned in Fenris’ glare. “Did I give you fucking permission to speak?”

Michel’s fine blond hair slipped down to obscure his face as he dipped his head down into a submissive position. “No, master.”

Fenris slowly downed the remaining swig of his beer as he considered the man before them. “If you want to see us naked, worm,” he finally said, “you’ll have to earn it.”

A hitch of breath. “What would you have me do, master?”

A long pause. Dorian still hadn’t moved, literally waiting on the edge of his seat for the next words out of Fenris’ mouth.

Something cruel flickered at the edges of Fenris’ fine, full lips. “Into the chains with you.”

Michel’s response was an enthusiastic, “Yes, master.”

A few minutes later, the three of them were in a bedroom, rather tastefully decorated in shades of navy, gray and chocolate brown. Dorian watched as Michel undressed, and Fenris withdrew several lengths of thin chain and some cord from the satchel now open at his feet. In another moment, Michel was completely naked. His body, Dorian noted, was sheer perfection – golden and scrumptious as a lemon cream cake in the window of the most elegant pastry shop in Hightown.

Docile as a lamb, Michel allowed Fenris to slip a collar about his neck and cuffs about his wrists. Once the chains were attached, Fenris pulled them taut, securing them to some hooks discretely set into the ceiling. Dorian wondered about the cord briefly, and then tried not to wince as Fenris tied it around Michel’s half-engorged cock and attached it to a ring on his collar, leaving no slack.

Michel made a small movement, then grimaced as the cord tugged at his swollen member.

Fenris circled the man, light-footed and deadly as a jungle cat, his green eyes stone. “You disappointed me last time, slave,” he murmured. “You begged for mercy almost immediately.”

Another hitch of breath. “It won’t happen again, master.”

“It better not,” came that deep murmur. From his pocket, Fenris withdrew two shiny objects that looked like clothespins. He then clamped one of them on Michel’s nipple, eliciting a gasp. “What is it you want tonight, slave?”

Michel gasped again as Fenris attached the other clamp to his other nipple. “To get fucked, master.”

Fenris traced a finger lightly down Michel’s sternum, smiling when his teasing touch elicited a shiver. “You’ll have to be very good, then, if you want to be our fuck boy.”

Dorian had remained slightly off to side, observing quietly as the scene unfolded. He felt... well, not entirely uncomfortable with the scenario, although he did feel a bit useless letting Fenris do everything. Though the white-haired man may have sensed this, for a moment later, Fenris dipped down into his bag of magic tricks to withdraw another object, which he pressed into Dorian’s hand.

This object he readily recognized: a butt plug. And he understood precisely what Fenris intended for him to do with it.

Although Michel groaned softly, Dorian was able to insert the plug easily enough with only a minimal amount of lubrication. Which told him that their client was no stranger to this sort of thing. Had he prepared ahead of time? Did he know what was coming? As Fenris withdrew another object, Michel sighed deliciously.

_That would be a yes, I suppose,_ Dorian mused as Fenris flicked the riding crop through the air, letting it land gently on Michel’s flushed member, now straining against its bonds as if trying to meet Fenris’ touch.

“Remember, slut,” Fenris said, passing the riding crop to Dorian before reaching for the flogger, “I don’t like being disappointed. Keep your mouth shut and take it.”

Michel’s voice was barely more than a shaky breath. “Yes, master.”

Fenris started off with light blows. Dorian, as he’d been told, followed Fenris’ lead. As the blows became harder, and Michel’s skin redder, Dorian reminded himself of what Fenris had said about the client being in charge. Surely there was a safeword? He fretted about this for a moment, but then Michel let out a shrieking cry.

“Mercy, master! Mercy!”

Dorian steadied his hand, holding back his next blow as Fenris did the same. Watched as Fenris stroked Michel’s jaw, purring into the blond’s ear. “You did well, cocksucker. You’ve truly earned your pleasure tonight.”

Breathless, Michel sputtered his words out. “Thank you... master...”

Fenris tossed aside the flogger. Then slid out of his coat. His hands were working down the buttons of his tangerine shirt before he cocked his head at Dorian. “Come here and let the slave see what he can’t touch.”

“Oh!” Dorian said. “Umm, yes. Right.”

Stepping around, he cursed himself for flustering. But, for a moment, all he’d been able to think was: _I’m going to see Fenris. Naked._ Something he’d been anticipating since the moment he’d accepted this job.

Dorian slid out of his own coat, fumbling his way through the buttons on his own shirt, barely aware of Michel’s gaze upon them, so hungry. Tried not to stare at the intricate coils of white ink that unfurled across Fenris’ slim but muscular chest. Tried not to stare as the coffee-colored hands unbuckled his belt, popped the button, then tugged down the zipper of his pants before letting them fall down, revealing his underwear.

Dorian had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Fenris was wearing the black mesh underwear they sold at the Black Emporium, the ones Dorian had teased him about trying on during their not-really-a-date.

Fenris’ gaze shot up, sharp as crystal shards, as his hand moved instinctively to cover his crotch.

“An interesting fashion choice,” Dorian quipped. _Kaffas, Pavus, shut up!_ “You know, they suit you. Hardly ridiculous at all.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He then casually adjusted his package, which – Dorian had certainly been observant enough to note – wasn’t anywhere near a full arousal. Unlike his own cock, which, at the sight of a nearly-naked Fenris, had become immediately and painfully hard.

Fenris stroked a hand along Michel’s jaw again, then twisted the man’s face towards the direction of Dorian’s revealed and ready cock. “See that, slut? We’re both going to fuck you now. Dorian first.”

Michel shuddered. “Please, masters. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

As Fenris – somewhat intriguingly still wearing nothing more than those black mesh underwear that left little to the imagination – settled down on his knees before Michel, Dorian quickly slipped on a pre-lubricated condom before replacing the plug in Michel’s ass with his own ready member. As he started to thrust, Fenris took Michel’s cock into his mouth and began to suck. From where Dorian stood, he had a clear view over Michel’s shoulder of Michel’s rather sizable prick moving in and out of Fenris’ pretty mouth.

Feeling Michel’s tight heat around him as he watched the man fuck Fenris’ face – _Maker, that’s hot._ He could already feel his orgasm building up swiftly – too swiftly. He tried to look at everything other than Fenris on his knees pleasuring the blond man. But Dorian’s eyes, almost against his will, kept returning to the luscious sight of Fenris’ mouth being plundered. Jabbing in deeper and faster, Dorian imagined that it was his own cock moving in and out of Fenris’ mouth.

Imagining _that_ – well, it wasn’t much longer until Dorian’s reserve of stamina gave out, and he came, much harder than he would have expected. In fact, he was still trying to catch his breath when Fenris rose to his feet and stripped off the black mesh underwear with deliberate slowness. Once he’d kicked them aside, he had Dorian trade places with him.

On his knees, Dorian began to gently caress Michel with his tongue. His teasing was short-lived, however, because Fenris wasted no time picking up where Dorian had left off. One sharp thrust of his hips propelled Michel deep into Dorian’s mouth and halfway down his throat.

No, that wouldn’t do. Half-gagging, Dorian braced himself by putting his hands on Michel’s hips, giving him better control. Brushing up against fingers, Dorian realized that Fenris was also holding onto Michel’s hips from behind. Shifting his hands, Dorian’s fingers half-twined with Fenris’.

He half-expected that Fenris would admonish him. But the white-haired man was too distracted to pay Dorian much mind, or he didn’t care – either way, he didn’t withdraw his hands. Pleased, Dorian relished the feel of Fenris’ fingers between his as he continued to suck and Fenris fucked.

After a few moments, Michel jerked in his chains. Head tossed back, he grunted out a series of what Dorian presumed to be some colorful words in Orlesian, and Dorian felt the spasms of his powerful orgasm against his lips.

Then Fenris was carefully pulling out. Had Fenris come? Dorian wasn’t sure about that. Nor was he sure about what would transpire next, so he decided it best to continue to follow Fenris’ lead.

“Good boy,” Fenris murmured as he began the task of unbuckling Michel out of his restraints. Dorian helped by returning the cord, cuffs and chains to the black satchel. Then, at Fenris’ gesture, he tagged along as Fenris led Michel down the hall, around a corner, and in through a door on the right.

They were in a clean, airy bathroom, perfectly pristine – white fixtures with silver accents, white tile, white towels, white paint. The shower was a work of art – large and open, with two rainfall showerheads suspended from above. Dorian watched as Fenris turned on the water, then laid out three fluffy white towels on the nearby bench before returning to check the temperature of the water. Satisfied, he gestured the other men in.

Once in the blissfully hot shower, Fenris handed Dorian a bath sponge upon which he’d squeezed a generous amount of body wash. Still following Fenris’ lead, he began to scrub Michel’s fine, broad shoulders, working his way down the man’s back while Fenris occupied himself with washing the front.

_Strange,_ he thought, how Fenris’ demeanor had changed in less time than it would have taken Dorian to change his shirt. Still all business, but there was a gentle loving kindness to all of Fenris’ movements, and a tenderness in his touch. He had tried to come here tonight without any expectations, and yet this, more than anything else, surprised him.

This surprise, of course, didn’t keep Dorian’s eyes from following the rivulets of water that trailed down Fenris’ tawny, naked body. It was enough to stir him to life again. Maker’s balls, the man was truly delicious. Casually reaching out, Dorian let his hand trail experimentally down Fenris’ arm. The way Fenris’ angry gaze stabbed right through him caused him to jerk his hand back.

He didn’t try to touch Fenris again.

Once out of the shower, they patted Michel dry with the towels. Once this pampering was done, each man wrapped himself up in a fuzzy white bathrobe – Turkish, by the feel of it – and headed back into the living room.

As he and Fenris sat on the couch, Dorian pushed his wet hair back from his face, wondering why, exactly, they were still here, now that the deed was done. Still following Fenris’ lead, he accepted one of the beer bottles that Michel passed them before sitting down in a chair across from them.

“So,” Michel said. “Did you see the game last night?”

Dorian wasn’t into sports, but sometimes his clients wanted to make small talk, and sports was frequently a popular topic, so he kept up on all the major sporting events. Thus he was able to keep up with his portion of the conversation.

A totally normal conversation. As if the threesome with the chains and whips and humiliation had never happened.

By the end of their beers, he and Fenris dressed. At the door, Michel thanked them both, discretely tucking a few colorful bills into Fenris’ hand. Once in the elevator, Fenris counted it, then passed half to Dorian. Without glancing at the amount, Dorian shoved it into his pocket, thoughts still lingering on the evening he’d just passed. Only once they were outside the building did Fenris speak.

“So,” Fenris said, a spark of mirth glinting in his eyes. “Was it what you expected?”

Dorian leaned back against the wall where they had stopped. Thinking. “To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. It all seems sort of...”

Fenris cocked his head, waiting for a moment before filling in the missing word. “Perverse?”

“Well, yes, _that..._ but I was going to say... well, it seemed rather _silly.”_

Fenris snorted. A laugh? “Do you even know how much he paid for that?”

In truth, Dorian had no idea. He only knew that these sorts of clients paid _more_ for these sorts of services. “Ahh... a lot?”

Fenris just looked at him without responding.

_Not awkward at all,_ Dorian thought. “Well, it’s later than I thought it would be. I suppose I should go. So... good night.”

Still no response from Fenris, so Dorian took that as his cue to go on his merry way. Not until Dorian had taken a few steps down the sidewalk. “Wait.”

Dorian turned, expression expectant. “Yes, Fenris?”

Fenris heaved a small sigh. Most likely of vexation, Dorian presumed. “Are you walking all the way back to Low Town?”

Dorian slid his hands into his pockets as he considered the quiet night around them. “Well, I suppose I could call a cab.”

“At this hour? You would probably have a long wait.”

_Was that concern?_ Dorian doubted it. He shrugged.

Fenris regarded him for a long moment. Then he sighed again. “I live near here,” he said. “You can crash at my place. If you wish.”

Being invited to Fenris’ place to spend the night? Dorian couldn’t think of anything he wanted more. Even if it wasn’t _that_ sort of invitation... it was hard to keep his expression neutral as feelings of excitement and anticipation bubbled up in his chest, making his heart race, and flushing his face. Fortunately the darkness must have hidden his blush, and his voice, when he spoke, was miraculously steady.

“Stay at your place?” Dorian said. “Why, I’d be delighted.”

 


	10. Must We Really Waltz?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things with Fenris don't quite work out the way Dorian hopes.

Dorian Pavus was certainly, definitely _not_ in love with Fenris.

At least that’s what he continued to tell himself as he followed alongside the other man through the nearly deserted streets of Hightown, into a rather fine brownstone building just off one of the city’s prettier plazas, then down a corridor until they arrived at a sturdy-looking door with three locks. Once inside, however, all thoughts about his feelings vanished.

“Make yourself at home,” Fenris murmured, just before slipping off.

After the small vestibule where Fenris had dropped his keys in a beautiful glass bowl, the apartment opened up into a large living area before him, with a small kitchen tucked into the corner to his right, where Fenris was now rummaging through a stainless steel refrigerator. Shrugging out of his coat, Dorian studied his surroundings. The furniture was modern and sleek, yet inviting, and there was very little clutter aside from some very nice _objets d’arte_ placed tastefully around the room, including an abstract painting by a rather well-known Orlesian painter that occupied most of the wall above the sofa. It was one of Dorian’s many talents to recognize quality when he saw it, and everything in Fenris’ apartment was the epitome of expense and good taste.

He was barely resisting the urge to plunder the bookcase on the other side of the room when Fenris returned with two bottles of beer, passing him one. Apparently beer was the theme of the evening, so he decided to just roll with it.

Dorian jerked his chin to indicate the room. “Is this what you spend your money on?”

Fenris shrugged. For a long moment, Dorian believed that would be the exasperating extent of the response, but then Fenris spoke. “It’s important to me to have a space... a safe space. One that’s clean.”

Dorian lifted the bottle to his lips – the beer was a buttery, summery wheat – and took a careful swallow, considering all the things he could say. But in the end, he decided not to remain silent.

Fenris gestured him towards the sofa. Once seated, Fenris leaned back, absentmindedly scratching at the label on the bottle as he considered Dorian for a moment. Then he snorted. “If you live in Low Town, you must live in a slum.”

Dorian decided to ignore the taunt. “I just moved, actually, to a much nicer slum,” he said nonchalantly, with a smile that was all bright teeth. “It even has windows. Lets in that unfamiliar thing known as sunshine.”

Fenris made the same little snort-laugh he’d made earlier. A sound which Dorian inexplicably found as delightful as music. “In that case,” he muttered, “you must be so glad you left the lap of luxury now so you can suck cock and have perverts lick your boots in Kirkwall.”

“I am.”

Those words sounded far more serious than he’d intended. He’d decided a while ago that it was best to try to keep things light with most people – Fenris in particular. He wasn’t sure why exactly, only that something in Fenris reminded him of a wounded animal. One that would bite and scratch his way out of a corner if frightened or provoked.

Fenris, who had been about to take a sip, lowered his bottle slowly. Looking at Dorian now a bit differently, his eyes were sharp and lucid. Well, not that he would be intoxicated, Dorian supposed, as they’d only had a couple of beers in total so far.

“So,” Fenris said, slowly as if he were rolling the word about in his mouth and savoring it. “Why did you leave?”

It was a question asked in earnest, and it deserved an earnest answer. “Ah. I had a falling out with my father. I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away,” he said, all trace of his smile gone. “Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire like screaming on the inside. He sent me to conversion therapy. To alter my mind. Make me.. acceptable. And when I refused to continue to play his game, he kicked me out. Right after he called me a pervert and a faggot. He said I was disgusting. Despicable. And that he never wanted to see me again.”

Fenris was quiet for a moment. Then he grunted, giving a sort of consolatory headshake.

Dorian waited. At the coffee shop, he had agreed to tell Fenris his reasons for leaving Tevinter only as a _quid pro quo_. Except, as the silence stretched on, he started to suspect that Fenris was not going to confess. But then Fenris shifted slightly, drawing a deep breath.

“I grew up poor,” he said. “Lived in the worst slum in all of Minrathous. I don’t even remember my father. And then, while we – my sister and I – were still young, my mother disappeared. I haven’t heard from her since. And I don’t wish to.”

Dorian, silent, patient, waited.

“Anyway, we did what we had to survive. I...” He trailed off with a grimace.

The silence stretched on again. “Then... that’s when you began selling yourself?” Dorian prompted.

Dorian’s voice seemed to draw Fernis back. “No,” he said. “I did what any thirteen-year-old boy wanting to survive in the slums did: I joined a gang. Started off as a lookout during the drug deals. Moved up the ranks. By the time I was sixteen, I was a recruiter.”

Dorian didn’t know much about gangs in Minrathous, other than the fact that they existed in the poorer parts of the capital, and he was quite curious. “Is... is that where you got your tattoos?”

“No. I got those in Kirkwall. After I’d escaped.”

“Escaped?”

Fenris huffed a lock of snow-white hair which had fallen down into his eyes. “If you want to know everything,” he muttered gruffly, “then just let me go in order.”

Dorian mimicked locking his lips shut and throwing away the key.

“As I was saying... a year later, I was shoving whatever kind of drug I could get my hands on into my veins. Anything to kill the pain. But heroin was my favorite –” Here a faraway look crept into Fenris’ eyes. Then he drew in another deep breath. “By the time I was eighteen, I had a full-blown habit that was out of control. I’d shoot five to six times a day just to try to get high, but... by then I just needed a shit ton just to feel normal.”

Dorian, both fascinated and disturbed in equal measure, continued to listen to Fenris’ autobiography. Maker, it was like a bloody _Lifetime_ movie, only much, much worse, because it was _real._

At some point, Fenris’ lack of control meant that he was no longer able to support himself or his habit, so he’d had the brilliant idea to steal drugs and money from the gang. It was not long before the higher-ups realized what was going on – apparently, a rather common problem among their dealers. Fortunately, a friend in the gang had tipped Fenris off. At this point, he did the only thing he could think of: he grabbed what money he could as well as part of the main stash and he ran.

“I must have had at least a thousand bucks worth of dope and about ten grand left when I arrived in Kirkwall. This lasted... for quite some time. But, invariably the drugs, then the money ran out. That was rock bottom.”

As Fenris scratched at the label on his beer bottle, Dorian tried to remain quiet. But he had to _know_. “And then what happened?”

Fenris cocked his head slightly, as if listening to a music only he could hear. “I met the Hawkes. For some reason, they decided to help me. I got on methadone. I’ve been clean ever since.” Pausing, Fenris set his beer down on the nearby coffee table. He then rolled up both of his sleeves, and held his arms out toward Dorian, palms up. “You see, I had so many scars here, from the needle. The tattoos were a way to cover them, but also a way to remind myself at the same time of my mistakes.”

Dorian looked at the curving lines of white ink that followed the veins at the susceptible crooks of Fenris’ elbows. The ink did cover the scars quite well, but, upon close inspection – now that he knew – they were faint, but visible. Without thinking, Dorian stretched out a hand and touched one of the inked lines on the underside of Fenris’ arms, tracing it lightly with a fingertip.

Fenris didn’t pull away.

Green eyes on his, hazy now. They were so close. Close enough that Dorian could feel the damp warmth of Fenris’ breath against the side of his face, his lips. So close that it was _dangerous_.

_I am absolutely, one hundred percent_ not _in love with this man._

Even so, half-convinced, it didn’t change the feel of the moment. Sharing secrets. So close. So intimate. Almost naturally Dorian reached out, one knee swinging over across Fenris’ lap, hands on Fenris’ shoulders, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

Fenris didn’t try to stop him.

Instead he smiled.

Dorian wanted nothing more than to taste those fine, fine lips. They would taste like beer, no doubt, but he imagined that the tawny man tasted as sweet as he looked. Like caramel and cream, perhaps. Tightening his hold on Fenris’ shoulders, he leaned in for the desired, long-awaited-for taste.

Except that two hands on his chest stopped him.

He blinked down at Fenris, puzzled.

“You can have me,” came the answer to the unasked question, “if you’re willing to pay for it.”

That almost exploded Dorian’s brain. _What the fuck? Is he serious?_ He nearly sputtered. “Pay for it?”

The hazy green eyes continued to taunt him. “You want straight-up sex? Since we’re colleagues, I’ll give you a discount. Two hundred an hour.”

_Romance is definitely dead._ Dorian’s grip loosened as he stared down at Fenris. He tried to keep the snap out of his voice, just barely managing. “That isn’t much of a discount.”

Fenris continued to meet his gaze for another moment. Then, something in his eyes shifted, becoming sharp again. With a gentle push, he extricated himself out from under Dorian. Standing, he ran a hand through his hair. “The couch is all yours. It pulls out into a bed.”

Dorian tried to ignore the awkward, oily feeling in his stomach as he helped Fenris move the coffee table back out of the way before removing the cushions and unfolding the sofa into a bed. He quietly cursed his luck as Fenris slipped off, returning a moment later to hand off a blanket and two pillows. He then echoed back a “good night” before Fenris slipped off toward the back room, leaving Dorian, once again, to sleep alone.

\-------------------------

Dorian hadn’t quite felt comfortable enough in the morning to ask Fenris if he could make use of the what-appeared-to-be-neglected coffee maker tucked away in one corner of the kitchen, so he’d foregone his morning cup. However, the prospect of traveling all the way back to Low Town without any caffeine was a daunting one. _That_ would just not do.

He was mere blocks away from the Tethras mansion. There were certainly a variety of high-end cafes and patisseries in High Town, but headquarters was still the closest, and also the most economical. Furthermore, Varric kept the kitchen well-stocked with a variety of fine coffees and teas, so the quality couldn’t be beat. The only thing it lacked was a sexy barista to make his coffee. Although if he were lucky...

He’d texted Cullen twice since the last – rather memorable, in Dorian’s opinion – night they had spent together. Cullen had been friendly but aloof. Well, not aloof, exactly, more like busy, having cited familial obligations when Dorian had suggested they meet. Dorian didn’t know if he’d felt more disappointed or envious, having no family obligations – or real friends – of his own. At any rate, running into Cullen by accident seemed like the most likely way that Dorian would be able to see him.

Coming into the mansion’s lounge, Dorian was delighted to spot a man at the bar.

Unfortunately it wasn’t the man he’d been hoping for.

Looking up, Anders smiled as he tucked a lock of loose strawberry blond hair behind his ear. “Bless the Maker, it’s you,” he said, then slapped the espresso maker. “Please tell me you know how to work this infernal contraption.”

Dorian returned the smile. “Given how desperate I am for caffeine... I will give it my best shot.”

Dorian came around to the other side of the bar. Coffee grounds were scattered everywhere except in the machine where they belonged. He’d never used an espresso machine before, but he’d watched numerous barista make his cappuccinos. Taking charge, he tamped some coffee into the portafilter, then attached it by securing to the group head. As he readied the receiving cups beneath the spouts, he tossed Anders a glance over his shoulder. “Put some milk in that pitcher.”

“Milk? Ugh. Milk is for cats.”

“Some people happen to like milk.”

Anders pulled a face, but followed Dorian’s instructions anyway.

A few minutes later, the two men were seated at the bar, enjoying the fruits of their combined labor with contented sighs.

Anders spoke after a moment. In his eyes, a playful twinkle. “So, Dorian... coming, going, or already came?”

Dorian smirked. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

Anders chuckled. “If you ever do find a gentleman around here, do make sure you don’t let the rare, precious unicorn get away.”

“Am I to assume, then, that Hawke is not a gentleman?”

Anders became contemplative for a moment as his finger traced along the rim of his espresso – no milk – cup. “You know, when I met Hawke, I didn’t like him immediately. Long story – but I thought he’d come over to give me trouble. That lasted about, oh... five minutes, and then I was madly in love with him.”

_Five minutes?_ Surely that was an exaggeration. But Anders had made his point. What had happened between them – at least on Anders’ part – had happened fast.

_Love at first sight?_

That made Dorian wonder about something else. “Can I ask you something?” When Anders nodded, Dorian continued, “With you both being escorts... does it ever get in the way of your relationship?”

“Ah,” Anders said. “Well, yes, sometimes. But we’d made an agreement, you know? What we do when we’re apart – it’s not _sex with other people_. It’s purely _work.”_

Dorian considered that briefly. “And that works for you?”

“Most of the time. Like any relationship, I suppose.”

_Like any relationship_... not that Dorian knew anything about _those._ Not a real one, at any rate. “I see,” he said. Then, “Can I ask you another question?”

Anders hid his smile behind his uplifted cup. “Questions, so many questions.”

“Do you ever go on jobs together?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“And the reason for that?”

Anders smiled again, but this time it was a thin thing, somewhat unnatural. “Because that line between _work_ and _sex with other people?_ Actually seeing it with my own eyes – well, that tends to blur the line between the two.” Pausing, Anders pursed his lips. “How do you suppose _you’d_ feel, watching the man you care about take pleasure with another man?”

Dorian considered that. Last night, watching Fenris pleasure Michel... surprisingly, he’d found it rather hot. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “If it’s just pleasure, then I see nothing wrong with it. If it makes him happy, then who am I to stand in the way of it?”

Anders hummed thoughtfully. “Progressive of you,” he teased. “Though I wonder... this discussion... was it prompted by what happened at Bull’s with Cullen? Or what happened last night with Fenris?”

Dorian was about to throw out a witty comeback, except that it was precisely in that moment that his cell phone blipped. Checking the screen, he found a brief message from Varric.

It was an easy job, with one of his regular clients, so Dorian had no real reason to turn down the offer. He typed his response back to Varric. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he stood up from the chair, then downed the last of his cappuccino before setting the cup back down in its saucer with a soft _clink!_

The playful spark twinkled in Anders’ eye again. “Don’t tell me. You’d love to finish this conversation, but, alas, you have to go.”

Dorian offered Anders one of his most charming smiles. “I couldn’t have put it more precisely myself.”

\-----------------------------

Dorian’s client had already arrived at Dorian’s apartment and was waiting outside the door.

Why on earth such a well-appointed man would be willing to slum it in Low Town, Dorian had no idea. But whatever the client wanted...

Dorian smiled at the somewhat handsome, middle-aged man, as he dug the keys out of his pants pocket and unlocked the door. “Hello, Teagan. I hope you haven’t been waiting long...?”

Teagan casually brushed a lock of light brown hair out of his eyes, which sparkled with a hint of mirth. “I’d say it’s always worth waiting for you, Dorian,” he said lightly. “Though, I am glad you’ve arrived as I do have an appointment later in Hightown that I unfortunately cannot miss.”

Dorian ushered Teagan inside, making sure to lock the deadbolt behind them before adjusting the thermometer, increasing the heat. “I’ll go change then, shall I? I’ll take your coat.”

The nice thing about regulars, Dorian thought, that he always knew what to expect, once a routine was established. With Teagan, the routine was always the same. Once every ten days or so, Teagan would come to Dorian’s apartment where he would clean the bathroom and iron Dorian’s clothes. During this, Dorian would go about his usual business. The only unusual concession to Teagan’s demands was that Dorian go about his business wearing only a pair of tight and scanty underpants that Tegan had furnished for the occasion. It was like having an occasional maid, only better because Dorian was the one being paid.

Once changed, Dorian puttered around in the kitchen. Unfortunately, Teagan didn’t do dishes. Once those were washed and drying in the rack, the coffee he’d started was ready. Settling himself down in a chair with his current novel, Dorian began to read. He was only vaguely aware of Teagan watching him as he ironed the shirts Dorian had set out for him.

When the phone rang, Dorian answered it.

“Good news, Sparkles,” Varric said. “We’ve got the perfect lady client for you. You’ll be escorting her tomorrow night to one of the most exclusive parties in all of Kirkwall.”

It had been so long since Varric had discussed the possibility of working as a lady’s escort that Dorian had almost forgotten about it. “One of the most exclusive parties in Kirkwall? It sounds, as you Southerners so crudely say, right up my alley.”

“Great,” Varric said, with warmth in his voice. “I knew I could count on you, Sparkles. You’ll be picking her up at her house at seven.”

“I’d say your plan is flawless, Varric, but, in case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have a car.”

“Not a problem. She’s already rented a limo. I’ll give you the address.”

Dorian got up to fetch a pen, then jotted down the address. Unsurprisingly, it was located in one of the better parts of Hightown. “All right. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Varric replied. “Make sure you bring that Tevinter charm. This client? She’s very... particular.”

Dorian paused. “Particular? In which way?”

“In every way,” came Varric’s not-entirely-reassuring response. “In fact, she’s got quite the reputation here in Kirkwall. They don’t call her the Iron Lady for nothing.”

 


	11. Drag Another Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his second job with Fenris.

There were a hundred candles burning, casting a warm glow throughout the hall. Ornate sculptures of swans made of ice. Pats of butter shaped like flowers and seashells served on tiny silver plates. Tall windows covered with banner-like curtains that gave the room a regal air, while a string quartet played classical music in the background.

The owner of the mansion was a graceful middle-aged woman named Celene, the CEO of Imperium, one of the largest perfumeries in Thedas. Once he’d been introduced to the most serious hostess, Dorian had to turn his charm up to max just to make her smile.

The beautiful woman by his side, wearing a long, silvery sequined gown and matching headdress that flattered her dark skin magnificently, patted his tuxedo-clad arm approvingly as they moved away. “I believe that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that woman laugh,” she drawled. “And by laugh, I mean a genuine laugh. Not an evil cackle.”

From a circulating waiter, Dorian snagged two champagne flutes, passing one to his date. “I take it the two of you aren’t on friendly terms?”

“I work for her, so of course not,” Vivienne de Fer said. “As master perfumier, I’m the one who creates all of the most lucrative magical elixirs for Imperium, while she takes all the credit. And, by the way, darling, who are you wearing?”

Dorian’s cologne was a moderately inexpensive Hugo Boss for men, so he opted not to say so. “Nothing like what you’re wearing. It’s exquisite.”

Vivienne’s plum-colored lips curved up into a smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear,” she said as she patted his arm again. “Tonight I’m wearing one of my latest creations. It hasn’t been released yet. But I’m thinking about calling it Wyvern’s Heart.”

“That does sound wicked.”

Vivenne’s smile deepened, touching the corners of her eyes. “Precisely the point. Now – let me introduce you to some dreadfully dull but important rivals of mine whom I’d love to fill with envy.”

Dorian spent the rest of the evening being introduced and making small talk to some of the wealthiest and most influential denizens of Kirkwall, if not Thedas. Vivienne made no secret of Dorian’s state of estranged heir to the Pavus fortune. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the scandalous aspect of it, flaunting it in her rivals’ faces. Other than making small talk, there was dancing, which – due to his mother’s insistence of dancing lessons when he was younger – was among Dorian’s many skills, and he was able to partake of the large and impressive, no-expense-spared banquet.

In other words, Dorian had such a delightful evening that he was almost sorry when it was time for him to escort Vivienne home.

As the limo glided slowly through the streets of Hightown, Dorian considered Vivienne – beautiful, rich, powerful, educated, intelligent and cultured – then asked, “You know, I am rather curious,” he said. “A woman like you can’t find a date?”

Vivienne leaned back in her seat, casually adjusting the hem of her dress down over her knee. “If I wanted a date, I would have one,” she explained. “Currently, however, I do have a lover, only I can’t bring him anywhere.”

Dorian considered that. “Married?”

“Yes, my dear,” she said. Then she regarded him for a brief moment. “To be perfectly frank, I’m pleased with my decision to hire you. You’re certainly handsome, and you’ve proven yourself very skilled at hobnobbing with the rich. I’d be delighted if you’d be willing to do this again.”

Dorian had enjoyed being back in his old social circle, among the wealthy and pampered. He’d also enjoyed Vivienne’s company. And, truth be told, it was almost a relief to have a client who didn’t expect any sort of sexual intimacy. It was refreshing. Best of all, he was being paid a fortune to have a good time.

He remembered the VIP cards Varric had given him shortly after he’d started. Taking one out of his wallet, it passed it to her. “I’d like you to have this,” he said. “We only give them out to special clients. It will give you a discount on any of the agency’s services, among other perks.”

One thing Dorian knew was that rich people were notoriously stingy. They never liked to waste money. Apparently, Vivienne was equally stingy, for she smiled at the card briefly before slipping it into her silver-sequined designer handbag. “I look forward to using it, my dear.”

At her house, Dorian walked her to the door and then kissed her hand goodnight.

The next day a small parcel arrived for him, sent via the agency. Opening it, Dorian was delighted to find that it was one of the Imperium’s more popular and expensive perfumes for men, that came in a signature square bottle with a glitter-filled spherical stopper, and the name big and bold in block letters:

_Enchanter._

\-----------------

It was another beautiful, sunny day in Kirkwall, and Dorian had just finished another session with one of his regular clients in Hightown. Strolling through the streets, he contemplated the best way to spend his evening. He had nothing else lined up for the rest of the day, no where to go, and no-one to see. What he did have was hunger, so he decided to swing by the Tethras mansion to see if any of his co-workers would be interested in grabbing a bite to eat.

In the lounge he found several of the escorts. including Zevran, Hawke, and a very attractive white-haired man, curled up on one of the sofas with his legs tucked under him, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a book in the other.

Before Dorian could make a beeline for Fenris, he was accosted by Zevran.

“Greetings, my friend,” the slim man said with a mischievous smile. Then he sniffed the air. “What is that fragrance you’re wearing? You smell delicious. Almost good enough to eat.”

Dorian smiled. “I didn’t realize I was on the menu.”

“If you are, you’re most definitely in the category of dessert,” Zevran purred. “And speaking of eating... we were thinking of ordering a pizza. Care to join us?”

“No anchovies.”

Zevran chuckled. “You’re a man of refined taste, then.”

Hawke laughed. “Which is why he’s not interested in tasting you, Zev, no matter how many times you toss yourself on a platter.”

Zevran waggled a finger in Hawke’s direction. “My dear Hawke,” he said. “I do not toss myself anywhere. Lay myself down seductively and irresistibly, perhaps, but there is no tossing.”

Before Hawke could whip up a snappy comeback, Varric appeared in the doorway of the lounge. His gaze skimmed over each of them, before settling first on one of them, then another.

“Good,” Varric said jovially. “Just the boys I was looking for. Dorian, Fenris, come back to my office.”

Fenris untucked himself from the couch and tucked his book away in his bag, then both he and Dorian followed Varric to his office in back.

“So,” Varric said, once he’d settled himself back at his desk. “I have a job for you two. It will be with the Bull. He asked specifically for the two of you.” Tapping his pen against his keyboard thoughtfully, he added, “You both know him. He wants a show. Tonight. Interested?”

Dorian considered that. If it were anything like the show he’d put on last time with Cullen, then... he had every reason to say yes. He just wasn’t sure if Fenris would agree to it. “Sure.”

Except for a twitch of his right hand, Fenris made no other movement. “I have no other plans,” he said, as if putting on a show with Dorian for Bull were the most casual thing in the world.

Varric beamed. “Wonderful. Now get your sweet selves over there,” he ordered. “And – remember to smile.”

\----------------

A half hour later, Dorian found himself sitting on the same chocolate brown leather sofa, watching as Bull fiddled with the bottles at the bar. Prismatic light bounced off the tumbler as he canted it in Dorian’s direction. “Gin and tonic, if I recall correctly,” he said, then jerked his head towards Fenris. “He’s boring. Vodka. Neat.”

“You have a very fine vodka,” Fenris murmured.

“If it ain’t the best, it ain’t worth having.”

“Good memory,” Dorian said as Bull sauntered back over to offer him the drink. Then he watched as Bull sank down in the chair across from them, sipping amber liquid from his own glass.

“I’m curious, ‘Vint,” Bull said. “You enjoying the work Varric’s giving you?”

Dorian tilted the glass, listening to the satisfying tinkle of ice rattling against the finest crystal. “It’s certainly interesting.”

Bull’s chuckle was a dark rumble. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a slow sip from his own glass, then cocked his head at Fenris. “Things interesting for you, slim?”

Leaning back against the sofa, legs crossed, expression neutral, Fenris was the picture of indifference. “I have no complaints,” he said mildly.

“It’s disappointing how little you boys are willing to share, far as titillating details are concerned,” Bull said. “Talking ‘bout sex? Always a good way to pass the time. But... did I ever tell you ‘bout the championship match I had in ‘12? It was me against a wrestler called the Arishok. Mean bastard, and big. Put up one hell of a fight...”

Dorian listened politely as Bull recounted tales from his days as a pro-wrestler. Even though Dorian was certain that all that wrestling business was just for show, and not a true sport at all, he certainly didn’t voice this opinion aloud to Bull. The way the man spoke, there was nothing fake about it, and none of his fights had been staged. Instead, each match was a battle of strength. Man versus man in the ring. Just with all that sparkly Spandex. And silly masks.

After he’d regaled them with wrestling tales, Bull fixed them all another round. Then he and Fenris chatted a bit about Kirkwall politics – a subject about which Dorian had scant knowledge, and which was of no particular interest to him. However he did observe three things.

One: that by their easy banter, it was obvious that Bull and Fenris knew each other rather well. Two: that at no point did Bull reminisce about his time in Tevinter as he had done with Dorian. And, three: by the hungry glances he discretely shot in Dorian’s direction, it was obvious that Bull was indeed rather infatuated with him.

“Another drink?” Bull prompted when their glasses were once again empty.

Again, when Fenris declined, Dorian followed his companion’s cue.

Bull slapped his hands on his thighs, then stood. “In that case, let’s get started. Into the bedroom, boys.”

By now, not knowing what to expect for Dorian was part and parcel of the job. However, by the Maker’s grace, he _hoped_. Hopes which were not dashed when they entered the bedroom and Dorian observed that Bull’s camera stood waiting on its tripod near the bed.

Bull’s large fingers slid over the camera, clicking a tiny button, and causing the red recording light to flare to life. He cast a long serious look at Fenris. “I think you should bottom this time.”

Fenris’ eyebrow almost imperceptibly flickered.

_Hot damn,_ was Dorian’s first thought. Getting paid to top Fenris? _Kaffas,_ he was either the luckiest man on the planet right now, or he was dreaming. Yet, he’d noticed that flicker. Was it hesitation? Interest? Disgust? “That is acceptable to me,” Dorian announced, and turned to Fenris, gaze searching. “If it’s all right with you, of course.”

Green eyes swung over him. Within them was an entirely new light. Was it hunger? Fenris growled his answer. “Fine.”

Dorian’s heart rate seemed to triple in his chest, and all the blood seemed to rush straight out of his head. It was a wonder that he didn’t faint on the spot.

“Good,” Bull said. “And I’d like it bareback.”

_Bareback?_

Dorian and Fenris exchanged a glance.

Fenris responded. “That will cost extra.”

Bull patted his camera. “I’ll pay double. Be worth it for the collection.”

_Wait, wait, wait!_ As far as Dorian was concerned, no matter the financial gain, having unprotected sex was simply not acceptable. Nor was Fenris making the decision for both of them. “One moment, please,” he said politely to Bull, then grabbed Fenris by the sleeve, dragging him towards the far end of the room. Once they were as far as they could go, Dorian hissed under his breath at him. “Have you lost your mind?”

Fenris stared at him for a moment. Then he huffed. “Are you clean?”

Dorian paused to actually consider the question. “Yes... I mean, probably, but...”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed slightly. “You always use a condom with the clients, right?” he asked. “Always?”

“Yes, but...” Dorian trailed off as he realized that Fenris was most serious about this. And that what Dorian was seeing was the man’s reckless side. Which made him wonder... “...do _you?”_

Unruffled, Fenris simply replied, “Of course I do.”

Time was ticking away, and Dorian knew that he had to make a decision. Going bareback was dreadfully reckless, and risky, and an all round terrible idea. On the other hand, just the thought of having sex with Fenris, with no barrier between them, made Dorian so hard it hurt. And, well... all the escorts had check-ups on a regular basis. But should he trust Fenris? Maker, he hardly knew the man. Truly torn, Dorian debated internally for another moment.

And yet...

Dorian sighed. “All right, fine.”

That flicker of eyebrow again. Not quite meeting Dorian’s eyes, Fenris cleared his throat before he did a little head tilt towards Bull, the bed, and the waiting camera. “Then we should get on with it.” Raising his voice, he asked Bull, “Any other requests?”

Bull watched as the two of them sauntered back across the room. “Nah. Just make it hard, fast and dirty. And make sure there’s a money shot.”

They proceeded to take off their clothes. Dorian’s gaze remained fixated on Fenris as the white-haired man’s elegant fingers spidered down his shirt buttons, revealing his artfully tattooed skin, then removed shoes and pants with equal grace. Dorian was slightly disappointed to note that Fenris wasn’t wearing the black mesh underwear, though he felt a little thrill when he saw the outline of the rather obvious erection through Fenris’ snugly-fitting boxer briefs.

Naked now, Dorian felt the weight of Fenris’ gaze as it skimmed down his body – palpable, Fenris’ gaze was heavy and hot, lapping like tiny flames, making Dorian even harder. Unable to wait a moment longer, Dorian quickly closed the distance between them and reached for Fenris.

The client wanted it hard, fast and dirty? In his fantasies, Dorian had imagined it that way, too.

The long awaited for skin, velvety under his hands. The long awaited for mouth, open and warm, with lips faintly sweet and tinged still with vodka, no cigarettes, tongue coy against Dorian’s.

Kissing Fenris was magnificent. Better yet when Dorian stroked his hands down Fenris’ back, then tugged him closer so that their cocks briefly brushed together. Dorian felt like he could kiss Fenris forever. However, he was aware of the situation – namely that this was all a show put on for the client’s benefit – so he knew he had to move on. With some regret, he broke off the kiss.

Green eyes met his, softer than Dorian had ever seen them. Dorian paused for a moment to give Fenris the opportunity to take charge, then was slightly surprised when he didn’t.

Dorian had no problem with doing whatever he wanted with Fenris. And what he wanted in this moment, more than anything, was to play with Fenris’ beautiful cock.

Dropping down to his knees, Dorian wrapped his hand around it in order to give it a few long, teasing strokes. In his hand, Fenris was so hard. As Dorian stroked, Fenris made a small involuntary noise in his throat. Then, while continuing to touch, Dorian, mindful of the camera angle, leaned forward to give Fenris’ cock an almost experimental lick.

Fenris quivered.

_He has quite more than a mouthful,_ Dorian thought, as he slowly trailed his tongue up from the base of Fenris’ shaft, then swirled it teasingly around the head. All clean, silky skin, Dorian could detect only a slight trace of soap, which didn’t entirely mask Fenris’ natural scent, which reminded him of apples.

In other words, Fenris tasted scrumptious, and Dorian was so very hungry.

After a few more teasing swirls of his tongue, Dorian placed his lips around the head of Fenris’ cock as his hand continued its leisurely slide up and down the shaft, alternating between teasing flicks of his tongue and light sucking. As he sucked, Fenris made the same involuntary noise again, then placed one hand on Dorian’s head, threading his fingers through the dark hair, as if to hold Dorian in place.

Dorian had been in this position before and knew what to expect, and prepared for it by relaxing his jaw. Just in time, for as Fenris’ fingers tightened in his hair, Fenris slightly thrust his hips, causing his hard, quivering cock to slide halfway into Dorian’s mouth. Then, after a brief pause, he pulled back nearly all the way before sliding back in again.

Dorian lifted his hands, letting his fingers dig into Fenris’ hips. He loved, loved, loved the way Fenris tasted, and how Fenris’ hardness felt against his tongue, and the heady way it felt to be controlled and dominated by him. If he could have, Dorian would have gobbled all of him down, but Fenris’ impressive girth and Dorian’s sensitive gag reflex didn’t make it feasible.

All too soon, Fenris was prying Dorian off him. Scratched his fingers along Dorian’s scalp once, as if lazily rewarding a good dog. Dorian followed him with his gaze as the slimmer man made his way to the bed. Turning, Fenris then crawled up over the bed on his hands and knees, presenting Dorian and the camera with a rather suggestive view.

An offering.

A part of Dorian would have liked to have tasted more of Fenris, but the offer was just too good to pass up. _Some other time,_ he promised himself, as he surreptitiously scooped the bottle of lube from his nearby pants’ pocket before approaching the bed. Fenris made a noise as Dorian’s oiled fingers slipped around the outside of his hole, then another as Dorian slipped a finger in.

Slowly, Dorian eased another finger in. As if on demand, he felt Fenris relax, muscles slack.

Fenris turned his head. Flash of green, his voice gravel. “Fucking fuck me already.”

Dorian chuckled. “So demanding,” he purred as he thrust his fingers further in, eliciting another throaty noise. With his free hand he managed to squeeze some more lube, which he then generously applied to himself. Tossing the bottle aside, he then withdrew his fingers to replace them with his eager cock.

Fenris groaned as Dorian slid into him. Loudly.

Dorian wasn’t sure that it wasn’t all just an act for Bull. As Varric had said, Bull liked a good show. Still, given how utterly amazing it felt to be inside Fenris without a condom, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. It was slick, tight, and hot, and a hundredfold better than any experience he’d had before.

Standing with his hands on Fenris’ hips, Dorian began fucking him in earnest. He was only vaguely aware of Bull moving around them with the camera. Instead he was too caught up in the sensations he was experiencing, the breathy sounds that Fenris was making, and his own attempts to make it good for Fenris by restraining himself to long, slow, steady strokes, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back into the hilt again.

As Dorian reached around to take Fenris in hand, Fenris clawed the sheets, his breath coming faster and more ragged as Dorian stroked him in time to his thrusts. Fortunately, his ministrations were distracting enough to keep himself from coming too soon.

He felt Fenris’ cock twitch hard in his hand, then Fenris hissed a word he didn’t catch. Fingers tightened in the sheets as his back arched and then he throbbed in Dorian’s hand as Dorian instinctively thrust in as deep as he could. Across the dark gray coverlet, Fenris jetted out a Jackson Pollack-esque design of pearly seed.

Hearing Fenris come was almost enough to put Dorian over the edge. He thrust a few more times until that familiar tension was about to reach his peak. Pulling out, he quickly took himself in hand., and with two quick and efficient strokes, Dorian came, spattering his ejaculate high up across Fenris’ tawny, tight back.

For a brief moment, both men were still and silent except for the calming of their breath.

Bull rumbled a chuckle. “Nice.”

Fenris shifted, then caught the towel that Bull tossed to him. When he spoke, he was only slightly breathless. “I’m using your shower.”

Bull clicked off the camera and set it down upon his desk. “Go ahead.”

Dorian watched as Fenris threw the towel over his shoulder, and padded off towards the bathroom. He then glanced at Bull, who had sat down at his desk, and was now attaching the camera to a laptop with a cable. As Dorian reached for his underwear, Bull looked up at him, giving him an appreciate once-over.

“If I may ask,” Dorian said. “What do you do, exactly, with these films?”

Bull grinned as he tapped a key on his computer. “Don’t worry. Part of my private collection.” Watching the screen, he tapped a few more keys. Assuming the conversation was over, Dorian continued to dress. But then Bull turned back to him. “Have to say – this one’s pretty hot.”

In the distance, Dorian could hear the soft hush of the water in the shower. Buttoning up his shirt, he offered Bull a smile. “Good. I’m glad you’re satisfied.”

“I’ll say,” Bull said. Then, after a moment, he spoke again. “Want a copy?”

Of course Dorian wanted a copy.

A few more clicks, then Bull scribbled down something on a scrap of paper, which he then handed to Dorian. “My private server. You can download the film from here.”

In the distance, the water stopped.

Dorian wondered what would happen now between himself and Fenris. Now that they’d been intimate, things would change, wouldn’t they? Or would things go back to being business as usual? Dorian wasn’t sure he’d be too happy if Fenris decided to pretend that they hadn’t had _hard, fast and dirty_ sex together.

Bull eyed him again. “You know... you two look good together,” he decided. “Next time, though, I’d like to see him tie you down. You up for that?”

That was like asking Dorian if he were interested in having a fine wine in his glass, a good book in his hand, or oxygen in his air. A no-brainer.

“If he is,” Dorian said.

 


	12. Howling from the Vaults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian doesn't go on a date with Krem... or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for transphobic character / transphobic language.

Dorian turned on his new Kindle, found the video he’d recently downloaded, and pressed play.

Again.

Dorian knew better than to get his hopes up. So when they’d left Bull’s place the other night, he wasn’t entirely surprised when Fenris didn’t invite him to spend the night again. Granted, it wasn’t as late as it had been after their first _m_ _é_ _nage_ _à_ _trois_ , and he had been able to catch a cab home. But perhaps it was just because Dorian was still feeling somewhat drunk off their intimacy that he’d felt that little jab of disappointment when Fenris, colder than ice, had walked off without even wishing Dorian so much as a good night, vanishing like smoke in the night.

 _Rude,_ was Dorian’s first thought.

Then: _He didn’t like having sex with me._

Except that Dorian now had proof to the contrary.

Dorian had not been able to see Fenris’ face while they’d been fucking. However, Bull had managed to capture Fenris’ expression on film for more than half the act. The screen on Dorian’s Kindle may have been small, but the expression on Fenris’ face was clear enough: skin flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and half-shut, lips parted and quivering with his labored breath – the epitome of sexual pleasure.

Dorian couldn’t stop watching the video. Maker, the expression on Fenris’ face was so hot. And Dorian was convinced of it – there was no way that he was acting.

Just that image of Fenris, biting his lip to keep from crying out with pleasure as Dorian thrust deeper inside him, was more than enough to incite Dorian’s arousal. Balancing the Kindle on his stomach with one hand, he slid the other into his boxers. It wasn’t long before the moment caught him up and swept him away.

_Nnng... ahhh... Fenris... fucking take it... kaffas!_

\--------------------------

Sitting behind the counter at Krem’s gym later, it took Dorian a great deal of effort to not take another peek at the sex tape again.

Instead he opened up one of his e-books, a novel called _Hallucinating Foucault_ that had someone had recommended to him back when he was in grad school _._ Except that today, the words kept blurring together on the screen as his mind continued to wander back to that night with Fenris.

At the mere thought, he felt himself stiffening again.

 _Not here, not now!_ Taking a deep breath, he slipped a hand down to his lap to adjust the matter, then tried to think of anything else. Such as the most recent news about his father that he’d received from his friend Felix. Apparently there were rumors in Tevinter that Dorian’s father was actively seeking a new heir. Dorian told himself that he didn’t care. After all, he’d already known that reconciling with his father was impossible. After what that man had done, Dorian didn’t think he’d ever even want to talk to his father again. And he certainly didn’t want the man’s money. So why did it still hurt?

Dorian decided that it was better not to dwell on it. It was upsetting, and there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, it had resolved his problem as he’d expected – nothing killed a boner faster than Halward Pavus.

However, he was still finding it difficult to focus on his book. Turning off the Kindle with a soft sigh, he glanced around the gym.

It was a slow day today. Since Dorian had arrived, only two men had come in, and the gym had been empty of customers for the past hour. In fact, it was so slow that Krem – who only ever worked out in relative privacy – had come out of the office. Sitting on the bench with a dumbbell in each hand, he was performing a long series of bicep curls.

Having nothing better to do, Dorian watched as Krem completed his set. Krem returned the dumbbells to the nearby rack, then glanced over at Dorian. “Hey, your highness,” he said with a grin. “Why don’t you come down off your throne and spot me?”

Dorian laughed as he climbed down off his tall chair. “If this is my throne, I’m certain I deserve a much more elaborate castle.”

Krem snorted. “Course you would. With gold sheets and a diamond-covered toilet.”

“Now that sounds painful,” Dorian quipped as he took his place at the head of the bench. “So, are you going to ‘keep yapping’ as you would say, or are you going to pump iron?”

Krem chuckled as he arranged himself on the bench. “Sure thing, Chief.”

He’d put more weight on the bar than Dorian himself could press. Dorian placed his fingers of both hands under the bar to aid Krem with the lift off. For a moment, Dorian doubted Krem could manage it, but then he did. Grunting with effort, yes, but soon the transman was smoothly moving the weight up and down over his chest.

Attentive, Dorian stood at the ready. He knew enough about spotting the bench to keep his hands off the bar unless the person he was spotting was struggling against the weight. And he knew enough not to let himself be distracted, even when the bell over the door chimed, announcing the arrival of a customer. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on Krem until the man finished his set.

Sweat broke out across Krem’s forehead. Muscles strained, bulging with the effort. Given how little Krem was wearing – a tight tank and a rather skimpy pair of running shorts – it was impossible not to notice just how strapping the man was. Krem was all strong arms and thighs, broad shoulders, flat abs, and trim hips and waist. The quintessential weightlifter.

It was so easy to forget that Krem hadn’t been born male. Almost involuntarily, Dorian’s gaze strayed down Krem’s body to land at his crotch. Where, he was surprised to note, there was a rather masculine-looking bulge.

Krem hissed through gritted teeth, “Dorian.”

Snapping back to attention, Dorian put his hands back under the bar. Even though he was barely lifting, his gesture seemed to give Krem the extra motivation to lift the bar one more time. Together, they set it back in place. Then Dorian circled around, offering Krem a hand to help pull him up. As Krem grabbed the towel draped over Dorian’s shoulder and began to dab his face, Dorian glanced up towards the desk to greet the newcomer.

To his surprise, it was Anders.

 _“Vishante kaffas,”_ he muttered. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know that I work here?”

Leaning casually against the desk, Anders grinned. “Word does seem to have gotten around,” he said lightly. “And I didn’t even have to torture Cullen for the information.”

Krem huffed softly. “Another friend of yours?”

Dorian glanced at his boss, who was eyeing Anders with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “We work together,” Dorian said quickly. “In the entertainment business.”

Anders slightly cocked an eyebrow, but sagely said nothing.

“So,” Dorian said with forced chipperness. “What brings you here?”

“I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d extend the invitation to you personally,” he explained. “We’re having a party tomorrow night, eight o’clock, at my house. You must join us.” Pausing he smiled knowingly. “And bring your... friend.”

It took Dorian a moment to process exactly what Anders was saying. And not saying. Dorian was about to snap, _He’s my boss, not my friend,_ and definitely _not_ in the suggestive way that Anders meant “friend.”

But Krem was already speaking. “Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun.”

Anders smiled. “Splendid!” He scooped up the fedora he’d set upon the counter, artfully popping it back on his head. “I look forward to seeing you two gentlemen tomorrow night.”

A bit confuzzled, Dorian could barely murmur an appropriate salutation as Anders slipped back out the door. Given Krem’s serious nature, he had never suspected that Krem would be the type to like parties. Unless... he thought it was a date?

Wait – did this mean he’d just agreed to having a date? With Krem?

“So...” Krem said as he rubbed at one armpit, then the other, with the towel. “Where’s this party at, anyway?”

For a brief moment, Dorian didn’t know what to do. Surely it was a bad idea to date your boss. Assuming it actually _was_ a date... but for some reason, Dorian was hesitant to clarify. “Ah, it’s in Darktown.”

“Darktown, huh,” Krem said, then tossed the towel aside. “Good thing we’re going together, then. Ain’t the safest place to be running around alone at night.”

Dorian forced a smile. “True,” he agreed. “I would feel much safer with you at my side.”

Krem paused. Then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Umm... thanks for spotting me. I doubt anyone else is comin’ in, so if you wanna take off, go ahead.”

“If you’re certain you don’t need me...”

“Yeah, ‘s fine. And you can meet me here at the gym tomorrow when I close.”

 _Last chance to back out, Pavus,_ Dorian thought. And yet...

“Sounds grand,” he said, with a genuine smile. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”

\---------------------------

They’d had to walk through some very shady alleys to reach Anders’ place. Fortunately, they arrived without any trouble from the local riffraff. No doubt due to the imposing figure Krem cut in his tight, ripped-up jeans, military-style combat boots, and black leather peacoat.

The inside of Anders’ place was the complete opposite of the outside. A renovated loft, it was both open and inviting, lit with dozens of strings of twinkle lights that gave it a welcoming, almost fairyland atmosphere.

Still, Dorian didn’t feel entirely comfortable at the party. He’d never told Krem that he worked as an escort, and pretty much everyone who worked at the agency was here. It was inevitable that someone would let it slip, yet Dorian couldn’t quite bring himself to confess it first.

For a moment he thought he would, but Hawke had descended upon them almost the moment they walked through the door.

“Great Maker, Dorian, I thought you weren’t going to show! Come in, come in. You’ve got to meet my sister. And our friend Merrill. I’ve told you about her, right? She’s an _artist_. Makes a lot of shit out of mirrors and broken glass. You’ll love her.”

With Krem trailing along, Dorian allowed Hawke to drag him around the room. First, he was introduced to Bethany Hawke. She was a soft-spoken woman, but only after a few minutes of talking to her it was obvious that she had inherited the typical Hawke sarcastic charm. Before Dorian could respond to her invitation to tea, her brother was already dragging Dorian and Krem off again, this time to meet Merrill.

Merrill was a slip of a woman with the largest green eyes Dorian had ever seen. She looked far too innocent to be a professional handler of broken glass.

“Ooh, you’re Dorian?” she asked, half-breathless as she blinked up at him. “Hawke’s told me so much about you. He talks about you all the time.”

An unfamiliar woman’s voice floated over. “Not half as much as Zevran talks about you. Makes it sound like you’re the second coming of Andraste.”

Dorian turned to the owner of the voice: a dark-skinned, buxom woman who was dressed like a pirate, despite the fact that this wasn’t a costume party. “Don’t tell me – you must be the infamous Isabela.”

Isabela crossed her arms, leaning casually against Hawke as if he were nothing more than one of the loft’s columns. “One thing he didn’t mention was how bloody handsome you are,” she purred. “Too bad you only play for the other team, kitten.”

Dorian smiled. “It’s almost shameful how often I get that.”

Isabela laughed. “Handsome _and_ modest. I like that.”

Hawke snickered. “I suspect you like everything.”

Merrill turned to Krem, who had been lingering quietly in the background. “Oh my dear, we’re being completely rude. And you are?”

“That’s Dorian’s friend, obviously,” Hawke offered, as he gently pried Isabela’s wandering hands off him.

“Ooh, he’s handsome, too,” Isabela opined. “I just love a man with muscles. And I’ve always wanted to date a man with red hair.”

Hawke laughed. “I’m sure you won’t have your chance. Not with him, anyway.”

Dorian still didn’t know exactly which way Krem’s tastes ran. Turning to him, Dorian said, “I think I’ll go find a drink. Can I get you anything?”

Krem looked vaguely grateful. “Beer if you can find it.”

“Back in two shakes.”

Dorian slipped off into the crowd. A moment later, he found the kitchen easily enough.

And Fenris, holding a tall glass of clear liquid.

Dorian stepped past him to open the fridge. Peering inside, he found a variety of bottled beers. As he contemplated them, he was aware of Fenris shifting, now leaning against the counter beside him. At Fenris’ familiar low rumble, Dorian’s ears pricked up. “There’s vodka in the freezer.”

Dorian released the beer he’d been touching. Straightening up, he shot Fenris a curious glance. “I don’t suppose you know where Anders keeps his glassware?”

With a small gesture of affirmation, Fenris turned. Opened a cabinet. Withdrew a tumbler that matched his own, which he passed to Dorian.

Once he’d filled his glass and returned the vodka to the freezer, Dorian turned his gaze back to Fenris. “So! Enjoying the party?”

Fenris shrugged in response. “And you?”

“I only just barely arrived. Though I met Zevran’s girlfriend, who is quite the character. And Hawke introduced me to his sister, and also his friend Merrill.”

Fenris’ face twisted as if he’d just been forced to suck on a lemon. “Merrill? Ugh. I hate her.”

“Really?” Dorian asked, wondering about that. Then again, Fenris seemed to dislike everyone in general, except for the Hawkes. “In that case... perhaps you and I should go out to the balcony?”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “The balcony? Why?”

Dorian smiled. “So you can smoke, of course, while avoiding people you dislike.”

At that, Fenris’ lips quirked up in a brief half-smile. “You do have a point.”

They circled around the crowd until they reached the sliding glass doors Dorian had spotted earlier. To his delight, no one else was on the balcony, meaning he was alone with Fenris. He was so happy he was even willing to overlook the fact that Fenris had already withdrawn one of his pretentious black-papered cigarettes from the inner pocket of his black jacket and was lighting it with the finger-snap flick of a Zippo.

For a minute, Dorian watched Fenris smoke. He admired the way the light from the end of the cigarette would brighten as Fenris inhaled, casting his face in a hazy orange glow. Even though smoking was a absolutely filthy habit, somehow Fenris still looked... well, _cool._

“You know,” Dorian said finally. “We never did talk about what happened at Bull’s.”

Fenris shrugged again. This time, as if to say, _Well, what’s there to talk about?_

“When you went to shower... he did say he’d like to see us again.”

Fenris shrugged again.

Really, this man. He was the most beautiful and exasperating creature ever. “I suppose I was just wondering... what sorts of things do you usually do for him?”

“Ah,” Fenris said. He exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Bull likes all sorts of kink. In particular B&D. Sometimes a little S&M. Leather. High heels. Rope.”

“High heels,” Dorian repeated, somewhat dubious.

Fenris smirked. “I imagine you’d look good in lipstick.”

Was that a compliment? Or a tease? Either one was quite unexpected. It made Dorian feel a little bolder than he had a moment ago. “Speaking of Bull... I was wondering what you thought about it. What happened between us.”

Fenris turned. Rested one hand on the railing as he gazed out upon all the tiny lights burning bright in the distance like steady stars. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

 _Ouch._ In that moment, Dorian would have sworn that the strange pang he felt inside was his very ego shriveling up. “Sorry to disappoint,” he snapped.

Fenris’ gaze slid back to him. “Oh, no, it was fine.”

Dorian felt his face crack.

Seeing Dorian’s expression, Fenris sighed, then amended, “No. It wasn’t just fine. It was better than anything I had imagined.”

 _Wait – what?_ For a moment Dorian wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Then... this means you imagined it?”

Fenris took a long drag. Exhaled. Then opened his mouth to speak.

At the same time, the sliding door crashed open and Anders popped his head out. His forehead was creased with worry as his gaze fell upon Dorian. “Andraste’s flaming knick–! There you are! You’d better get back in before your boyfriend hurts Samson.”

His first thought was: _What boyfriend? And who the hell is Samson?_ Then he remembered that he’d come with Krem.

Then he glimpsed as Fenris’ expression changed. Darkening, as if a flock of ravens had just blotted out his previous light.

_Oh, shit._

Anders hissed. “Dorian. Now!”

Dorian asked himself where his loyalty lay, then made a snap decision. Krem was his guest, and was involved in some sort of trouble, and, to be honest, dealing with that altercation seemed far more bearable than dealing with the look on Fenris’ face. Tossing a hasty apology in Fenris’ direction, Dorian dashed in after Anders.

He heard the ruckus before he saw them.

A man’s voice: loud and belligerent. “– if you were a real man, you’d have a dick. But you don’t, do you? Cause you’re really a woman.”

Dorian pushed through the crowd. Cast a glance at Krem. Krem could be irritable at times, but Dorian had never seen him angry before. Still, his attention was mostly reserved for the man called Samson.

Long stringy hair. A stain on his jacket. And he had that carved out look to his face that reminded Dorian of the desperate junkies he’d seen hanging around the docks near Cullen’s house. Without a second’s hesitation, Dorian went straight up to the man, and gave him a small shove, right in the shoulder, with just his fingertips. Just enough to capture the man’s attention.

“Excuse me,” Dorian said, “but do you always go around asking people what they keep in their pants?”

Samson glared angrily at Dorian. But he didn’t attack. Instead, he casually brushed at his jacket as though Dorian’s touch had sullied the fabric. “I didn’t know that this would be _that_ kind of party.”

“Samson,” came a familiar voice. “You’re making a scene.”

Samson scoffed at the blond man who’d piped up. “Sounds to me, Cullen, like you don’t mind keeping company with freaks.”

Dorian lifted an indignant finger, waving it in the man’s face. “Look here. I don’t know who you are, but I will not allow you to –”

A hand on Dorian’s arm cut off the remainder of his indignant words. Looking at the owner of the hand, he saw that it was Krem. In a low voice Krem muttered, “Dorian, forget it. I’m leaving.”

Before anyone could say anything, Krem turned and headed towards the door.

Silence.

Then Cullen sighed. “Samson. You’re an utter ass.”

_Shit shit._

Turning on his heel, Dorian dashed after Krem.

Outside the door, he caught a glimpse of the transman moving rapidly down the hall. “Krem, wait!”

Krem waited.

Dorian jogged to catch up to him. With a sympathetic expression, he said, “I’m sorry that happened to you. I don’t know who that man was, but... well, he had no right to say any of those things to you.”

In Krem’s jaw, a muscle twitched. Then he relaxed his jaw. “No. He didn’t.”

For a moment, the two men looked at each other.

“Sincerely, I have to say... I’m not even sure how he knew.”

Krem stared at Dorian for a long moment. Then he ran his hand over his head with a sigh as he leaned back against the corridor wall. “Yeah, well, it ain’t no big secret. It’s just... it’s been a long time since anybody clocked me like that.”

Lines of concern suddenly appeared between Dorian’s brows. “He hit you?”

Krem laughed softly. “No. ‘Clocking’ is when someone figures out you’re trans.”

“Oh. I see,” Dorian said. He didn’t know what else to say.

They stared at each other for another moment.

“So,” Krem finally said. “When you disappeared, there was some talk.”

Dorian felt a tingle of apprehension. “And?”

“About your other job. In Hightown,” Krem said. Then he fixed Dorian sharply in his gaze. “It’s true, then? That you’re an escort?”

Dorian put on an airy smile. “Shameful, isn’t it? What a man will do for money, I mean.”

Krem didn’t laugh at the joke. Serious, he said, “I wouldn’t call it shameful. You could have told me. It ain’t like I’m gonna judge you.”

Perhaps he hadn’t told Krem because that’s exactly the reaction he wished to avoid – being judged and found immoral. At least, with most people it was – other than his best friend Felix.

Krem thoughtfully stroked his chin. “And those other guys, in there, at the party – they’re escorts, too.”

A statement that was almost a question. “Most of them, yes.”

Krem mulled that over. Dorian waited for Krem to ask for the gory details, but he didn’t. Instead he said, “Everyone thought that you and I were together. Like I was your boyfriend, or something.”

Was that a note of hope he’d heard in Krem’s voice? Maker, why was Krem so stoic? It made him nearly impossible to read. “Well,” Dorian said, almost teasing, testing, “there are worse things they could think.”

There was a flicker in Krem’s expression. Curiously, he regarded Dorian. “Then... this mean I’m your date?”

In part, Dorian still knew that he probably shouldn’t date his boss. Also, he already had his hands quite full with Cullen and Fenris. He didn’t need another complication.

Or rather – if he were to be honest with himself – things with Cullen didn’t seem to be going anywhere. And he had a terrible suspicion that he’d just blown any chance of getting closer to Fenris by showing up at the party with Krem.

Also, Krem wasn’t an escort. He was just a nice guy, and Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually gone on a simple date with a regular guy. That appealed to him. That, and the fact that Krem was smoking hot.

Dorian smiled. “If that’s what you want it to be, I’m not adverse to the idea.”

A crooked little smile quirked up Krem’s mouth. “In that case... do you end all your dates talking? Or do you wanna go do something else?”

Sudden interest ignited like a flame. Vodka had eased off inhibition. Dorian stepped closer to Krem, placing one hand flat against the wall near Krem’s head. Invading Krem’s personal space. “My apartment isn’t far from here. We could have a drink.”

Krem’s hand found Dorian’s shirtfront, and his next words only fanned Dorian’s flames. “Drink sounds good, but that ain’t what I’m interested in tonight.”

There was nothing subtle about that. Maker, Krem was marvelous. Except that Krem was still trans, and this was definitely uncharted territory for Dorian. And since subtlety had already been tossed out the window, Dorian didn’t think too much about his next question. “Just out of curiosity... how do you have sex?”

For a moment Krem just stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, being trans... that must make things... different.”

Suddenly the twitch was back in Krem’s jaw. With the hand on Dorian’s chest, he gave Dorian a little shove, out of his way, before he stormed off down the hall.

Dorian staggered back. Then blinked in wonder. What had he said? Had he said something insensitive without realizing it? Things with Krem had been going brilliantly, so he didn’t know what exactly had gone wrong to provoke that reaction.

Dorian shouted down the hall. “Krem?”

Krem spun, managing to not break stride, to shout back. “You wanna know how transmen fuck, Dorian? Then fucking Google it.”

Dorian watched in silence as Krem spun back around, then disappeared around the bend in the corridor.

_Vishante kaffas!_

Once back inside, Dorian flopped down on the couch. He’d already swept the room for Fenris, but Fenris was gone. Dorian assumed that Fenris must have slipped out during his confrontation with Samson. Meanwhile, Anders and Hawke were now drunkenly and brazenly making out in the center of the room, oblivious to all others, which only added to Dorian’s bitterness that he was going to end up going home alone. He was still brooding on the couch when Cullen came over and sat down next to him.

Cullen regarded him for a moment. Then, cautiously, he asked, “So, Dorian, how’s your night?”

“In less than an hour, I’ve somehow managed to make three people angry at me, and nearly ended up in fisticuffs with one of your friends. So to answer your question, it’s been delightful.”

Cullen smiled in appreciation of Dorian’s snark. “The night’s not over yet. Perhaps it will get better,” he said smoothly. “Up for some fun?”

\------------------------------

_Trust me._

Those were Cullen’s words. By then, the clothes had come off, and Dorian was eager, having forgotten – temporarily at least – the tribulations of the evening. But then, when Cullen had offered Dorian a small white pill in the palm of his open hand, Dorian had, quite naturally, hesitated.

_Trust me._

Dorian didn’t need to pollute the temple of his body with drugs. And yet, something in Cullen’s offer tugged at him. There was something about Cullen that made Dorian want to be very, very bad.

He threw caution to the wind. He didn’t even ask what the drug was. Instead, he plucked it out of Cullen’s hand, popped it in his mouth, and chased it down with a swig of bottled water that the blond had ready for him.

Then there was drawn-out foreplay. Teasing with fingers and tongues as they waited for the drug to kick in. Then, when it did, Dorian found that he was horny as hell, with a hard-on like he’d never experienced before.

He didn’t just want sex – he needed it. His cock was an iron rod made of fire. He wanted Cullen on it, Cullen in him, stretching and filling him, all of it, all at once. All jagged breath, he begged Cullen to just get on with it and fuck him already.

Cullen obliged him. A quick but generous lube job, and then Cullen was putting Dorian on his knees, palms pressed up against the wall above the headboard, back slightly arched. One hand he placed on Dorian’s hip to steady them; with the other Cullen guided himself to Dorian’s ready entrance. Soft moans dribbled from Dorian’s lips – _yes, yes, yes_ – as Cullen steadily eased his way in. It took all of Dorian’s willpower to wait and not thrust back against Cullen in order to take more of him in.

Once Cullen was inside, though, it was glorious. Maker, Dorian had never been this hard before. Was it ecstasy? He’d heard about that, and this seemed different, so he didn’t think so. Whatever it was, it was setting all his senses on fire, making him absolutely ache to come.

He was so close, lost in the sensation of Cullen moving inside him. Then Cullen was stroking Dorian’s cock with one hand from behind, while the other waved something below his nose.

With a breathless tone, Cullen murmured his command in Dorian’s ear. “Dorian – breathe in. Deeply.”

The bottle in Cullen’s hand – that was a popper. He knew that much.

Dorian breathed in deeply.

There was a sudden rush swirling through his head. His limbs suddenly felt lighter than air, as if they were melting. At the same time, all sensation heightened in his cock, which was know being pumped by Cullen’s fist. Dorian was his body, his body was his cock, and everything was blurring together in the sweetest symphony of sexual ecstasy.

Choking on his own breath, Dorian came so hard that, for a moment, he thought he’d pass out. He was only vaguely aware of Cullen’s final orgasmic thrusts as the blond buried himself deep and quivering inside him before they both collapsed on the mattress.

They lay for a long time, side by side, in silence.

Finally Cullen stirred. Reaching for the water bottle, he took a long swig before passing it to Dorian. Once Dorian had finished sating his thirst, Cullen tossed the empty bottle down on the floor, then smiled down upon him. “So,” Cullen murmured playfully. “Feeling better?”

“That –” Dorian began, his voice reedy so he had to clear his throat, “– was rather... well, extraordinary.”

“Good,” Cullen said.

Dorian thought that the blond looked a little too smug, but given how marvelous he felt, he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Well, you did promise me fun.”

“I did,” Cullen said. “Though I am curious about one thing. What’s it like?”

Dorian mulled over the question for a moment, but it didn’t make anything clearer. “What is what like?”

“Sex with a tranny.”

Dorian grimaced.

“I mean,” Cullen said, sitting up straighter, “has he had the surgery? Or is he still female down below?”

Annoyed, Dorian snapped, “I wouldn’t know because we’re just friends.”

“Really?” Cullen gave Dorian a skeptical look. “Because it’s obvious that he would like to be more than just friends.”

Cullen wasn’t wrong, yet Dorian was still too irritated to admit it. “I wonder how you even conceived that notion.”

“It was obvious by the way he looked at you at the party,” Cullen said. Then he chuckled. “Are you seriously telling me that you didn’t notice that he was jealous of me that time I came to the gym?”

 _Is that what that was?_ Dorian wondered. Then he wondered how Cullen had noticed Krem’s feelings when he himself hadn’t. “By the way, that word ‘tranny’? It’s offensive.”

Cullen merely shrugged. “It’s just a word.”

“And so is faggot, but I hardly expect that you like it.”

Cullen studied Dorian for a long moment. Then, a bit blasé, he said, “Forgive me if I offended your sensibilities.”

“It’s not me who needs the apology.”

“Fair.” For another moment, Cullen mused. “Still, when you showed up at the party together, I just assumed he was your date.”

“Apparently you’re not the only one,” Dorian conceded. “Though, actually, I’m technically not dating anyone at the moment.” Thoughtful, Dorian trailed one finger lazily down Cullen’s chest. “Though, you know, we could remedy that...”

Cullen’s expression became as serious as a funeral march, then he sighed.

Whatever he was about to say, Dorian knew it wasn’t going to be good.

“Look, Dorian,” Cullen said finally. “You don’t want to date me.”

“You could let me be the judge of that,” Dorian said softly.

Cullen reached for Dorian’s hand. Gave it a small squeeze before setting it back down on the bed. “I’m not...” he began, then trailed off with another sigh. “It just wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“So, then,” Dorian said, forcing himself to sound more cheerful than he felt. “We’ve had our fun. No reason to drag this out any longer. I’ll go.”

For a moment Cullen just watched as Dorian rose from the bed and began dressing. Then he scooted to the edge of the bed. “Dorian? We can still be friends.”

 _That_ was like putting the arsenic icing on the poisoned cake. “Please spare me the ‘let’s be friends’ speech,’” he said. “I think I’ve had enough this evening, and it’s better if I go.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“Going,” Dorian said as he hurriedly slipped into his shoes and scooped his scarf up off the floor before he slipped out the door.

_Going, going, gone._

 


	13. Love You Obviously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his third job with Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently some of you thought the last chapter was a little too heavy, so here's some more smut. Enjoy!

Dorian’s suspicions that the Bull liked him were confirmed again, once the request for him and Fenris came to the agency only a few days after Anders’ party.

He hadn’t seen or spoken to Cullen or Fenris since the party. Or Krem, for that matter. Though Dorian had been scheduled to work today, Krem hadn’t come to the gym. Instead, he’d just sent Dorian a short text saying he’d had some business to take care of at the Docks, and that he’d leave the key with Grim, the rather taciturn man who ran the mini-mart next door.

Dorian had felt vaguely relieved by Krem’s text, certain that their next meeting was going to be awkward, considering how poorly their “date” had ended. Except that he knew he’d have to face Krem again eventually – a prospect about which he felt a strange ambivalence.

Because he could, Dorian locked up the gym early and dropped the key off with Grim. This way, he’d have enough time to leisurely shower and change before taking a cab up to Bull’s place in Hightown.

Although traffic was heavy, he’d been eager enough for this job that he’d left early, and managed to arrive nearly ten minutes before their appointment.

Seven minutes later, he spotted Fenris, with his black satchel slung over his shoulder, as he turned the corner. Impatient, Dorian waited and watched as Fenris slowly ambled his way down the sidewalk to where Dorian was hovering, not far from Bull’s door.

Dorian had decided that humor was the best way to go, given the strangeness that had happened between them at the party. “Fancy meeting you here,” he quipped.

“Varric told me that you agreed to this,” Fenris said, in lieu of a greeting. “Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”

“Well, it is just for show,” Dorian said lightly, with a confidence he did feel. “And I’m certain that I can handle whatever you throw my way.”

Fenris studied him for a long moment. “That will entirely depend on the client,” he said. He paused for a moment before adding, “But if at any point you want me to stop, say ‘Tevinter.’”

Dorian lifted a curious eyebrow. “I must say I’m surprised by your choice of safeword.”

Fenris shrugged. “It isn’t something you’re likely to blurt out in the moment.”

“True.”

As they headed together to the door, Dorian replayed this conversation, searching for clues to Fenris’ actual feelings. Fenris had spoken to him in a professional manner, almost cordially, as one does with a familiar colleague. Somehow Dorian was both grateful for Fenris’ lack of cold distance – always a possibility – and perplexed by his behavior – as if nothing in their lives outside of work had ever happened.

Once again, Bull opened the door and led them into the familiar living room. Again, they made small talk, and once again Bull regaled them with one of his tales from his time as a pro-wrestler. And again, they drank, but only one this time, due to Bull’s eagerness to “get the show on the road.”

Once again in Bull’s bedroom with the waiting camera, Dorian and Fenris stripped down to their underwear – Fenris’ some black and silky boxers that clung enticingly to his hips, Dorian’s a more practical pair of white stretch Calvin Klein boxer briefs that contrasted beautifully with his darker skin.

As Fenris tossed aside his shirt, he glanced at Bull, now turning the camera on. “Do you want anything in particular?”

Bull smirked. “Just do what you do best,” he said. Then he let his eyes trail appreciatively up and down Dorian’s near naked body. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing you mark that fine ass of the ‘Vint here.”

 _I’m not the only Vint here,_ Dorian wanted to point out, but a questing look from Fenris stilled his tongue. Dorian knew that Fenris was seeking his permission. Briefly he wondered how he felt at the prospect of being “marked” by one of Fenris’ whips.

 _Well,_ he thought, _in for a penny_... At the unspoken question, Dorian nodded.

Without a word, Fenris then took a step towards the chair where he had placed his satchel. Dorian, not knowing what to expect exactly, waited, trying not to fidget as Fenris opened the bag to withdraw a few items comprised mostly of leather. A moment later, he approached Dorian, holding a pair of wrist restraints, one in each hand.

Cool and calculating were the green eyes that cut straight into his soul. With a half-husky voice, Fenris gave his first command. “Get on the bed.”

Dorian knew his role, which was to be the submissive partner in this scenario. Not that he was any good at that. However, he considered himself a marvelous actor, and this, like their last job together, involved a great deal of play-acting. “Yes, Master,” Dorian murmured, then stepped back to arrange himself upon the bed.

Fenris climbed over him, seated against the headboard. “Give me your wrists.”

Docile, Dorian held out his hands. Fenris buckled first one cuff, then the other. Dorian was surprised that he felt a little thrill as Fenris tugged the straps on the cuffs to ensure that they fit snugly around Dorian’s wrists.

Fenris backed away slightly, then issued his next command. “Turn around and face the wall, slave.”

Long ago, slavery did exist in Tevinter. And not that Dorian was particularly proud of it, but his own family, back in the day, had been slaveholders. Because of this little stab of indignant pride, he hesitated.

When he didn’t move fast enough to please Fenris, the man took the matter into his own hands. Darting forth like a viper, Fenris seized Dorian by the head, fingers tightly wound into Dorian’s hair. With a rough tug, he twisted Dorian around so he was now facing the wall, then shoved his head down so that his face was crushed against the numerous pillows that bordered the headboard.

“When I give you an order, bastard,” Fenris hissed, “you will obey immediately. Do you understand?”

The hand entwined in his hair eased slightly, and Dorian gulped in air. “Yes, Master.”

“Good.”

Fenris then grabbed one of Dorian’s wrists, threading a thin strap of leather through a metal loop on one restraint, then around the headboard before he secured it at the other wrist. He’d left nearly no slack, thus leaving Dorian firmly tied by the wrists to the bed.

“On your knees, worm.”

This time Dorian obeyed quickly. Without the use of his hands, however, he found it difficult to maneuver. Tensing the muscles in his abdomen, he somehow managed to wriggle himself into the requested position. Hands tied, shoulders down, his ass up in the air before the camera.

Dorian felt his heart speed up as a hand fell upon his hip. Then he sucked in a sudden breath as the hand slid over his left buttock to come to rest in-between. Slowly Fenris stroked up and down his crack for a moment, hole to balls and back up again before he suddenly pressed in.

Dorian sucked in another breath. Even though he was still wearing his underwear, he could feel the tease of Fenris’ thumb as it pushed up into his entrance. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to let Fenris inside him – fingers, tongue, cock... all of it, right now.

As Fenris continued to taunt him, Dorian let out a soft moan as he thrust back his hips, seeking more.

Just as suddenly as Fenris had started, he withdrew his hand. Dorian sputtered out a soft plea. “Please...”

There was no warmth in Fenris’ voice. “Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

Fenris snorted softly. “If you want me to fuck you, slave, then you’ll have to earn it.”

Dorian nearly balked, but remembered his role just in time. “Yes, Master.”

Dorian felt the mattress shift as Fenris climbed off the bed. Sneaking a peek over his shoulder, he saw Fenris move back to the chair, where he reached into his bag. After fishing about briefly, he pulled out an object that Dorian had never seen him use before, but which he recognized all the same.

A flogger.

This one had a black and red braided handle, with about two dozen thin strips of leather in black. Returning to the bed, Fenris tossed it aside before reaching for Dorian again.

This time, Fenris’ thin fingers slid under the waistband of Dorian’s boxer briefs. With meticulous care, he eased the underwear down Dorian’s hips and thighs, then worked them past knees and ankles. These he tossed aside on the floor.

Unable to move, Dorian felt strangely exposed, knowing how fully he was on display in front of Bull’s camera. _Maker, if my father ever saw this..._

The thought was cut off as Fenris lightly ran the tails of his flogger across Dorian’s backside. Dorian shivered as Fenris purred near his ear. “I’m going to punish you now,” he said. “I’m going to whip you ‘til I make you bleed.”

Dorian swallowed hard. He hadn’t signed up for scars, oh no. Except that his foolish pride forbade him from uttering the safeword before Fenris had even begun. “Yes, Master.”

Fenris drew back his arm.

Dorian was a knot of tension, a strange, heady mix of both dread and anticipation before the first blow. When it fell, it hurt far more than he’d anticipated, and he gasped at the hot sting that blossomed through his flesh.

The second blow, harder than the first, jerked Dorian in his restraints.

 _Kaffas!_ For some reason he’d expected Fenris to hold back, but it felt like Fenris was doing anything but that. At least until the third and fourth blows caused him to cry out at the wires of fire that exploded across his buttocks.

At the fifth blow, Dorian gritted his teeth, determined not to speak the safeword. Instead, he took the pain, and let the pain overtake him. His entire body flush with it, he tightened his grip on the headboard until his knuckles paled as Fenris continued to rain hard, sharp blows down upon his ass.

Another blow, then another. His skin now sensitive, he cried out at the next blow, certain that Fenris had just flayed off his skin.

Then an odd thing happened. Suddenly the intense pain just vanished. Later he would realize that the soft feeling that overcame him in that moment was just the rush of endorphins washing through his body once he’d reached his breaking point. Suddenly, it wasn’t just pain any more, but intense pleasure mixed with pain in an intoxicating concoction unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

Briefly he just floated along on this sensation. His knees were rubber, his head all fluff, all thoughts and troubles distant. At this point, he was nothing more than Fenris’ plaything, willing to be whatever, and do whatever Fenris wanted.

_Anything for him. Anything._

Suddenly, the punishment stopped. Dorian was only vaguely aware of the sound the flogger made as it hit the carpet. In his ear, Fenris’ voice seemed far away, but tinged with kindness. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

Dorian was clay, being molded into position by Fenris’ hands. Oiled fingers made quick work of preparing his entrance. Then he quivered as Fenris’ hand wrapped firmly about his hip, as the other hand guided the slippery head of his cock into Dorian.

There were a few slow strokes, then Fenris fell into a rhythm. With each deep thrust, Fenris’ hips slapped up against the whip-marked skin of Dorian’s ass, sending new sparks of pain and pleasure through Dorian’s body. A mere possession, existing solely for Fenris’ pleasure, Dorian continued to float in his very strange headspace, powerless, as Fenris continued to fuck him.

Dorian was lost.

Empty, but at the same time filled.

_Anything for him. Anything._

\----------------------------------

Afterwards, Dorian took a moment alone in the sanctity of the bathroom to splash some water on his face, try to calm his nerves, and examine the extent of the damage to his backside. The latter, at least was not extensive – he could still see the red marks from the whip, but Fenris hadn’t drawn blood. However, the mix of emotions flowing through him were harder to reconcile. He felt as if someone had turned his world upside down. He felt strangely needy and vulnerable, and so overwhelmed by the experience that it took all of his effort not to cry. He didn’t understand just what the hell had gotten into him.

 _Pull yourself together, Pavus,_ he told his reflection. He just barely managed to get his feelings under control, enough so that when he returned to the bedroom to finish dressing, he could at least pretend he was all right. He was even jovial when he and Fenris wished Bull a good night.

He was fine. Nothing extraordinary has happened. At least that’s what he told himself as he ignored Fenris, who was staring at him as they closed the door behind them and walked the short pathway to the sidewalk.

His shaking hands he shoved into his pockets, then forced an air of cheer. For some reason he wasn’t quite able to bring himself to meet Fenris’ eyes. “Well, that was most educational. But it’s late and I’m dreadfully exhausted. So... good night.”

Dorian spun about. But before he could walk away, Fenris’ hand on his arm stopped him. A gentle hand. With the other, he lifted Dorian’s chin, forcing Dorian to meet his gaze. For a long moment, Fenris stared deeply into his eyes. “Dorian.”

The way Fenris had said his name so kindly caused the breath to hitch in his throat. He forced his words out. “Yes, Fenris?”

Fenris’ lips tightened. With concern, perhaps? His hand remained on Dorian’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”

 _Yes, Master._ Dorian just barely managed to catch himself before he uttered those blasphemous words. Residue of the evening they’d just passed, perhaps, but a part of Dorian still dreaded displeasing the man. “I... if you insist.”

“I do.”

Dorian let Fenris lead him away. After all, he justified, at this hour it would be difficult to find a cab, and he was in no mood to walk back to Low Town. Also, Fenris’ sofa bed was surprisingly comfortable – not that he’d been able to sleep well the last time he’d been at Fenris’ apartment, his thoughts spinning like a pinwheel in the wind, and his feelings a complicated tangle.

In silence, Fenris let him into the apartment, then led him through the living area, past the sofa, to the bedroom in back.

Like the rest of Fenris’ apartment, the bedroom was tasteful and elegant, with walls a deep cream color, adorned by black and white art prints in simple black frames; the dark brown furniture was simple in design but high in price. Centered against the wall on his right stood a large canopy bed with a steel gray comforter, a half dozen matching pillows, but no expected canopy.

Uncertain, Dorian lingered near the doorway as Fenris moved across the room to the dresser. A moment later, he had lit a number of scented candles and attached his phone to a pair of speakers, so the room was now filled with soft music and a honey-warm light.

Taking Dorian’s hand, Fenris led him to the bed, then made Dorian lie down on top of the blankets in his arms. This turn of events was so unexpected that Dorian he didn’t know how he felt about it, or how he should react. Not knowing how to react, he decided to just follow Fenris’ lead.

Even more unexpected was when Fenris began to gently stroke his hair his one hand, and trace small circles over his back. When he spoke, his tone was soft and soothing. “If you want to cry, you can,” Fenris murmured into his hair. “It’s just the sub-drop.”

Dorian blinked. Then he adjusted his head against Fenris’ shoulder, looking up but not quite meeting Fenris’ eyes. “The what?”

“In BDSM, when play gets intense, the sub can end up in a weird head space,” Fenris replied. “Or you could be crashing from the adrenaline and endorphins. It’s totally normal.”

“Oh. How... interesting.”

Fenris shifted slightly, forcing Dorian to meet his eyes. “Whatever you need, just tell me. I’ll do it. I’m here for you.”

Dorian paused. Focused for a moment of the lovely sensation of Fenris’ fingers as they continued to filter through his hair. It felt... nice. And yet, his hands were still still shaking, and he still felt the unshed tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I... just want a bath.”

“I’ll run one for you.”

True to his word, Fenris ran Dorian a bath. Unsurprisingly he had a large, luxurious looking clawfoot tub among the white and black checkered tile. Once the tub was full and more candles lit, Fenris helped Dorian undress as if he were a child. Once in the tub, Dorian found that the water was perfect, and scented with a relaxing mix of lavender and citrus.

Once he’d settled Dorian in, Fenris stripped off his own clothes then climbed in behind Dorian, pulling Dorian’s back against his chest.

Skin to skin, Dorian felt himself begin to relax. More of his anxiety slipped away as Fenris gently and leisurely washed him, again, as if he were a child. Dorian could have even forgotten the rough treatment he’d received earlier during their role play, if the slight sting of the hot water against his tender buttocks weren’t a constant reminder.

Once out of the tub, Fenris carefully and gently dried off his body with a fluffy towel, then led Dorian back to the bed. This time, they lay naked under the blankets, Dorian’s head once again on Fenris’ shoulder as Fenris’ patient hands sweetly caressed him.

Fenris tilted his head to plant a soft kiss on Dorian’s forehead. “Better?” he asked.

Dorian considered how he felt. Here he was, lying naked in the arms of Fenris – the man he wanted more than any other. And, although he’d thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle sex they’d had, there was nothing sexual about this moment. Instead, it was... _comforting_. “Yes, I... think so.”

“Good.”

Silence fell. In it, Fenris continued to trail his hand up Dorian’s arm and shoulder, before letting it glide down Dorian’s back. Dorian shifted closer, snuggling up against the other man and basking in his warmth. _Safe_. He felt safe.

That was unexpected.

He hadn’t even realized how badly he’d wanted this – just to lie in a bed and be held lovingly by another man – until this moment.

His throat tight, purposefully not looking at Fenris, he had to force himself to speak. “Fenris?”

“Yes?”

Pause. “Do you like me?”

There was another pause, followed by Fenris’ soft sigh. His response was a husky whisper. “Yes.”

A thrill coursed through Dorian’s body. He wanted to shout: _Fenris likes me!_ Somehow he managed to remain calm. Even though he was dying to know more. “If you were going to date anyone, would you date me?”

There was another pause. Another sigh. “Yes.”

Feeling emboldened, Dorian pressed the matter. “Then... would you? Go out with me, I mean.”

This time there was a much longer pause. Dorian was slightly alarmed when Fenris’ hand became still. Fenris exhaled a very deep sigh.

Dorian’s heart leaped up into his throat when Fenris finally spoke again. It was one word, but in that moment it was the most beautiful word in Dorian’s world.

“Yes,” Fenris said.

\-------------------------------

Warmth. Safe and snug under a comforter of down, as the light seeping in through the cracks in the blinds on the opposite wall gradually brought him to wakefulness. For a brief moment, Dorian wondered where he was – not in his own bed – and then saw Fenris lying next to him, propped up on one elbow, hair deliciously mussed, green eyes open. Watching him sleep.

Fenris didn’t seem embarrassed to be caught staring. His voice was a husky morning rumble that was sexy as all hell. “Are you all right?”

Dorian nodded.

Fenris sat up. Flicked a lock of hair away from his eyes. Staring down at Dorian, his expression was fiercely serious. “Are you really okay?” he asked. “If so... then tell me.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Really... I feel fine now.”

The serious expression on Fernis’ face changed to one of relief. “Good,” he said. He then became thoughtful for a moment. “Do you like omelets?”

This was how Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, found himself seated at the island in Fenris’ kitchen, watching his compatriot cracking eggs, shredding cheese, and slicing portabella mushrooms. Meanwhile, in hand he held a blue and gold striped mug with some excellent dark roast, courtesy not of the neglected electric coffee maker, but from Fenris’ Orlesian press. After having spent a sexless but nonetheless wonderful night in Fenris’ bed. Pretty much the last place he’d ever expected to find himself.

The last time a man had made Dorian breakfast? Practically never ago.

“So,” Dorian said as Fenris masterfully poured the eggs into the pan. “Wherever did you learn to cook?”

Fenris let the pan rest over the gas flame, then leaned over to press the lever on the toaster. “Mostly from cooking shows,” he said. “Living alone, I became tired of always eating take out.”

Dorian couldn’t imagine ever growing tired of having someone else prepare his meals, even more so after his brief period of cheap ramen, and mac and cheese that tasted faintly of cardboard. “Generally a healthier option, clearly,” he said instead.

A few minutes later, Fenris set a plate before him with two slices of buttery toasted bread and one of the most perfectly formed omelets he had ever seen. It was almost a shame to destroy it with his fork, but it smelled divine. After the first mouthful, Dorian moaned in appreciation.

Sitting beside him, Fenris looked amused as he placed his napkin across his lap. “I assume that sound means that breakfast meets with your upper class approval.”

“It’s wonderful,” Dorian replied in earnest.

For a moment they ate and drank in silence.

As pleasurable as the meal was, Dorian couldn’t help but to be distracted by thoughts of last night. One thing in particular. Unable to hold back any longer, he asked, “Did you mean it?” When Fenris regarded him blankly, he added, “About going out with me, I mean.”

Suddenly shy, Fenris stared down at his plate. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Inside his chest, Dorian’s heart began to sing. “When?”

Fenris cleared his throat, looking even more awkward than before. “I don’t know...” he muttered. “When I’m free...” He flicked a shy glance in Dorian’s direction. Dorian, so expectant, sat literally at the edge of his chair, waiting. “I’ll... umm... I’ll text you.”

At this, Dorian’s heart nearly burst right out of his chest. Squeezing his coffee mug with fluttering fingers, Dorian grinned through the steam.

“I can’t wait,” he said.

 


	14. Like You Really Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has an unexpected client.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is hot enough to melt your panties off, Six Lily Petals. ;)

The next evening, Dorian found himself unexpectedly free due to a last minute cancellation by one of his regulars. Sitting at home, dressed to go out, it occurred to Dorian that it had been weeks since his last visit to Red Jenny’s. Weeks, really, since he’d done anything _fun_ in his spare time, if he didn’t count Anders’ party. He was overdue.

He sent out a couple of texts. Cullen – _that bastard!_ – didn’t even respond, but Anders agreed to meet him at the club in an hour.

Arriving early, he decided to pop into the Beehive.

Inside, he found Cole sitting on the counter, his legs tucked up under him, intensely focused on a Gameboy.

“I knew you were coming, Dorian,” Cole said in his ghostly voice without looking up from his game. “All signs pointed to yes.”

Dorian had never quite known how to react when Cole said strange things, which – to be honest – was most of the time. “I’m not certain how you knew, when I myself didn’t know I was coming until about a half hour ago.”

“Coming, going. Always running up the hill and down again. It draws you up and wears you down.”

“Now that much is accurate,” Dorian agreed. “In fact, it was one of the few things you’ve said that I could actually understand.”

The Gameboy beeped twice. Then Cole looked up, all wide, watery eyes and pursed lips beneath a wide-brimmed hat, reminding Dorian of a fish. “Why did you leave your home, Dorian?”

Dorian leaned against the counter. “You mean Tevinter?” he asked. “Well, I thought it would be nice to see the world.”

Cole cocked his head. “It was more...” he said, voice faint. “It was the man with your eyes... angry, walking on cobblestones. ‘I’m on my own now.’”

Before Dorian could respond to _that,_ Sera bounced in from the door in back. Today’s theme was clearly punk rock, as Sera was dressed in torn clothing held together by safety pins, her hair in spikes, and wrists and combat boots covered with studded leather. “Long time, no see, yeah? Thought you mighta got yerself a sugar daddy and was livin’ the good life, and forgot all about us lowly swill-sellers down here in the slums.”

“Forget you, my dear? Impossible. And also? My daddies just aren’t sugary enough.”

“Well, shite,” Sera groused in mock-sympathy. “And – hey, you!” she snapped suddenly at Cole. “That’s my Fire Emblem you stole, you friggin’ crumpet muncher!”

As Sera cursed Cole out, Dorian took the opportunity to check his phone for the hundredth time since yesterday. And was disappointed that he still hadn’t received the promised text from Fenris.

Sera reached over and jerked the cartridge out of Cole’s Gameboy. “And stay outta my room!”

“He doesn’t just take things,” Dorian added to be helpful. “Sometimes he leaves things. Cole, someone once left a wooden duck here in the Beehive. Was that you?”

“No,” Cole said. “I’m not a wooden duck.”

Sera gave Dorian a look as if to say, _See what I have to deal with?_

Dorian’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Was it finally the long-awaited for text? Lunging for his phone, Dorian fumbled, nearly dropping it on the floor. Clicking it on, he stared at the screen.

And was disappointed to see that the text was from Varric.

_You free to work in Low Town now? Got a client who asked specifically for you._

Dorian thought for a moment before typing his response: _Someone I know?_

_Didn’t recognize his voice. Said his name was Jowan. No kink. Bonus involved. Interested?_

Dorian considered for another moment. It was always flattering when a client requested him specifically. And turning down a bonus was hard. Even though he’d already made other plans, he was sure that Anders would understand.

Drawing a deep breath, Dorian texted back his answer.

_Sure._

\---------------------------

Dorian ran a quick hand through his hair, then smoothed down the lapels of his jacket, before he rang the doorbell.

As he waited, he felt a familiar flicker of trepidation. Briefly he wondered exactly how many times he’d been in this exact situation – waiting and wondering as he stood outside of a new client’s door. Sometimes he got lucky and the man who answered was a ten out of ten – young, built, and sexy as hell. Still, there had been a few clients Dorian had found actually physically repulsive, and every moment of pretending that he was having a good time while servicing them had felt like work.

Still, none of those experiences had quite prepared him for the sick, twisting sensation he felt in his stomach when he recognized the man who opened the door.

His boss from the gym. His friend. Cremisius Aclassi.

It actually took Dorian a moment to recover from his shock. To offer a smile, although the gesture felt as fake as plastic. “Jowan, I take it?” he asked, grateful that his voice, at least, sounded normal.

Krem gave a loose shrug, then opened the door wider, already turning away, and speaking over his shoulder. “Come in.”

Dorian drew a deep breath before he stepped in. Closing the door behind him, he then followed Krem into the apartment.

Krem’s apartment wasn’t luxurious, and the appointments were sparse, with very little ornamentation. But everything was tidy and neat, without a speck of dust for miles. Knowing Krem as he did, none of this was surprising.

Krem moved until he reached the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area, where a bottle and two glasses sat – one already full, the other waiting to be filled. Krem reached into the freezer for some ice, tossed that into the empty glass, then tipped the bottle over it, pouring an extremely generous amount of alcohol into it. Corking the bottle again, he set it down, then slid the glass across the counter to Dorian before picking up the other.

Dorian accepted the glass. A quick glance at the bottle revealed that it was actually a rather fine gin – one of Dorian’s favorites. In silence, Krem watched as Dorian lifted the glass and took a small sip, making an effort to ignore the impulse to slam the drink back in one go.

Dorian carefully set the glass down on the counter, looking at Krem expectantly.

Krem continued to stare at him for a moment. “You were really expensive,” he finally said.

Dorian forced the fake smile again. “Satisfaction is guaranteed.”

“Yeah. The website said that.” Shifting, Krem leaned against the counter, and stared down into his own glass for a moment. “So...” he said slowly, without lifting his eyes. “I didn’t tell him.”

“Him?”

“The guy on the phone.”

Perplexed, Dorian stared at him.

Krem’s gaze flicked back up. Seeing Dorian’s confusion, he clarified. “That I’m trans.”

No, of course he hadn’t. In truth, the subject of serving transgender clients had never come up in his conversations with Varric before, so he could only assume that the agency didn’t get very many requests from trans people. Or – if they did – no one had requested Dorian. Either way, it was something that Varric, had he known, would have made a point to mention. “Yes, I figured that.”

“So,” Krem said, as his fingers tightened perceptibly around his glass, “if you wanna leave... well, I’d get it.”

_He expects me to leave,_ Dorian realized. _That I’m going to reject him._ For some reason, that struck a chord in him. At the gym, Krem always put up a tough front, so seeing vulnerability in someone so strong was unexpected and strange.

Still, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man wasn’t a reason to stay. In fact, no one would blame Dorian if he walked out now. By giving a fake name, he’d lured Dorian here under false pretenses.

Even so, the false name wasn’t really the issue. Certainly many of their clients used one, either out of a sense of self-preservation, or of shame. No, the issue was whether or not he was willing to go through with it.

Paid sex.

With Krem.

Dorian composed his expression into something he hoped was completely neutral. Carefully, he asked, “Why would I want to leave?”

Krem’s finger inched absentmindedly along the edge of his glass as he gave Dorian a long look. His expression was so grim, it was almost comical. “You ain’t never done it with a transman before,” he finally said, half-statement, half-question.

“No, I haven’t,” Dorian admitted. Then he smiled. “But I took the advice of a friend and fucking Googled it.”

Krem laughed. Suddenly the tension was broken. A smile still hovering on his lips, Krem gave Dorian a sidelong glance. “Well, I ain’t never hired an escort before, so I guess we’re even. I don’t know how this is supposed to work.”

“Oh, it’s quite simple. I’ll do whatever _you_ want,” Dorian replied smoothly. “Though – if I may be perfectly blunt – wouldn’t it be a lot more economical to try the Bone Pit?”

Ice rattled in Krem’s glass as he made a loose gesture. “Yeah. Well... funny how as soon as some guys find out you don’t have a ‘real’ dick, they kind of lose interest real fast.”

_Oh_. Well, at least that answered one of his unspoken questions about Krem’s transition. Since the party, Dorian had scoured the Internet for information about transgender men. He’d learned quite a bit about transitioning.

“In that case,” Dorian said with a cheerful tone, “what kind of dick _do_ you have?”

Krem nearly choked on his drink. Wiping the liquor he’d sputtered onto his chin, he gave Dorian an amused look. “Well, it’s either a micropenis, or I can strap on the monster.”

“Ah.”

Krem reached for the bottle, tilting more gin into both of their glasses. “So...” Krem said as he set the bottle down again. “If you got any questions, now would be the time to ask.”

Dorian thought for a moment. He had dozens of questions, really, but all of them seemed really intrusive. Finally he thought of one. His look almost innocent, he posed it. “Is this going to make things awkward at the gym?”

Krem gave him a pleased little smirk. “What? Like if I stare longingly at your ass? You’d probably like it.”

Dorian did enjoy being admired, so there was an element of truth to that. This time, when he smiled, there was nothing plastic about it.

Krem snorted softly. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Taking another sip, Dorian considered the redhead. Krem had rugged good looks – in particular that jaw strong enough to cut rock, and the lively spark of fire always present in his eyes. There was just something so very _intense_ about Krem’s gaze. As for the rest of him, Krem was built like a truck – even though the tight t-shirt Krem wore, Dorian was able to trace over every muscle in Krem’s shoulders, his chest, and his abs with just his eyes.

Frankly, he found Krem rather hot. In his pants, Dorian felt himself stirring at the thought of how it would feel to be captured and pinned down beneath Krem’s bulk.

Gentle, he set down his glass. “So, Cremisius,” he said softly, invitingly. “What do you want?”

At Dorian’s unmistakably seductive tone, Krem froze. Fingers twitched. Then he cleared his throat. “Well... you know,” he said, unconvincingly. “Just... whatever. The usual.”

Dorian inhaled slowly. Then he took a step closer, enjoying how Krem’s eyes widened at his sudden proximity, just a little. “Krem,” he said gently. “Let me remind you that you’re paying a lot of money for this. And that I’m here to please _you._ But in order for me to be able to do that, you need to be honest about what you truly want.”

Krem thought for a moment. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, then pushed back the hair that had fallen down off his brow. “Honestly? I just want to feel _wanted.”_

Dorian paused. Did he want Krem? He’d already had plenty of time to think about it Sex with a transman was definitely unfamiliar territory for him, but Krem was unquestionably male. Perhaps a bit different than what Dorian was accustomed to, but no less of a man for it.

Krem stood still as Dorian stepped forward, his fingers lightly trailing across the back of Krem’s shoulders as he circled the younger man. Through the thin material of Krem’s t-shirt he could feel the warmth of Krem’s skin, and feel the hard muscle flexing and tensing under his fingertips. As Krem turned, Dorian slid both hands down to rest firmly on Krem’s hips. With a gentle tug, Dorian jerked Krem forward to their hips met as he bent his head to capture Krem’s lips in a heated kiss.

Kissing Krem was delicious. Krem’s lips were firm, yet supple, his mouth hot and hungry. Breathing in, Dorian could smell Krem’s scent – an intoxicating mix of light sweat, Irish Spring soap, and gin, none of that enough to mask the smell of his skin, which reminded Dorian of freshly-laundered linen with a hint of something peppery. Against his face he felt the alluring masculine scratch of Krem’s stubble as he captured Krem’s darting tongue between his teeth, then sucked on it.

In Krem’s throat, there was a low, muffled, wanton noise that shot through Dorian’s body, to further stiffen his prick.

Krem was slightly breathless by the time Dorian broke off the kiss. Pressing his mouth against the edge of Krem’s jaw, he murmured in the redhead’s ear. “Shall we retire to the bedroom?”

Krem drew back. Eyes hazy as he met Dorian’s gray ones. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick, then gestured vaguely towards the door on the opposite end of the living room. “That way.”

It was Krem’s desire to feel wanted. And it was Dorian’s job to fulfill that desire. Intuitively, Dorian knew that this was not the time to hesitate or be coy. Krem didn’t strike him as the type to like it rough, but a show of fervor didn’t seem like it would be unwelcome.

Seizing Krem harder by the hips, Dorian plundered his mouth again. At the same time, he aggressively pushed Krem back, so that they were half-dancing, half-stumbling across the room and through the door.

Once through the door, Dorian spotted the bed. He steered them towards it, then shoved Krem down.

All of Krem’s breath rushed out as he thumped down into the mattress. Then he moaned as Dorian threw himself down, bodies locked in a tangle of limbs.

Krem’s hands were everywhere, sliding over his chest, skimming down his back, clutching at his ass, as their tongues continued to wrestle. Dorian’s lips were tingling by the time he came up gasping for air. He stared down at Krem, below him on the bed, expression hazy.

“Dorian –” Krem began, his words suddenly choked off as Dorian shifted, thrusting forward to grind his erection into Krem’s groin. “Shit. Fuck. Dorian...”

“Too rough?” Dorian murmured, then drew another soft moan from Krem by running his tongue up along the underside of Krem’s perfectly chiseled jaw.

“No,” Krem muttered. “Too many clothes.”

Before Dorian could remedy that himself, Krem’s hands were already frantically at work, first pushing Dorian’s jacket off his shoulders, then fumbling with the buttons of Dorian’s shirt as Dorian leaned back, shrugging the jacket the rest of the way off. As Krem’s fingers opened his shirt and slid in, Dorian briefly enjoyed the open lust smeared across Krem’s face, and the delicious way that Krem bit down on his lip, stifling another moan.

_He wants me. Badly._ It was almost perverse how turned on Dorian felt by this knowledge. He hurried to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, briefly basking in the way Krem’s gaze practically devoured him, before he leaned down to begin nipping softly at Krem’s neck. As he did so, he let his fingers slither down Krem’s chest, then curl up around the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

T-shirt tossed aside, Dorian reached for him again. Dark hands skimmed up over Krem’s respectably ripped abs, then latched onto his arms, tugging him up. He was losing himself in a sea of fevered kisses, as Krem’s hard chest pressed against his, and Krem’s fingers clawed into his hair. His senses all full of pepper and soap, Dorian pushed Krem back down to the mattress, dipping his head to taste more of Krem’s luscious skin.

“Uh. Fuck. Dorian...”

Dorian’s hands stroked up and down Krem’s ribs as he began to pave a trail down from Krem’s lips. Nipping at neck. Sucking at collarbones. Kissing his pecs, then pausing to flicker his tongue over Krem’s nipple. Swirling a few times before capturing it between his teeth.

Krem’s fingers twisted in his hair again, his voice breathless. “Dorian,” he murmured. “Those are just for show.”

Dorian glanced up.

“Lost sensation with the surgery.”

“Ah,” Dorian said. Then he smiled sultrily. “Shall I continue?”

“Ugh,” Krem muttered. “I will kick the shit out of you if you don’t.”

Bending his head to hide his smile, Dorian continued. Shifting slightly, he licked along the faint scars just below Krem’s pecs then kissed his way down between those delicious abs, past his navel, and followed Krem’s fiery reddish brown treasure trail until he reached the waistband of Krem’s jeans.

Which were button fly. Dorian popped the first one, then – as his fingers moved down to the next, he glanced up to gauge the expression on Krem’s face.

Krem was staring at him, mouth slack. He swallowed once. “Dorian. Take off your clothes.”

Drawing back, he scooted over to the edge of the bed. Shoes and socks went first, followed quickly by both pants and underwear. As he straightened, it occurred to him that he’d left both condoms and lube in his jacket pocket – which was on the other side of the bed. He wondered, _Should I get them?_ But then a creak of the bed drew his attention.

Krem had sat up, and was unabashedly staring straight at Dorian’s half-blown erection, which was making a valiant effort to defy gravity. “Fuck,” Krem muttered. Sliding over, Krem sat on the edge of the bed before Dorian, then reached for him.

Dorian remained still as Krem’s fingers teased over his hips, then traced down along his well-defined Apollo’s belt. Krem then ran one palm up his cock. Taking it in hand, Krem then leaned forward.

Dorian widened his stance a bit as the tip of Krem’s tongue darted under his foreskin. Then he hummed in appreciation as Krem circled his cock his his fingers, retracting the foreskin before he snaked his tongue over the sensitive ridge.

Dorian adjusted his stance again, coiling his fingers lightly into Krem’s silky red hair as Krem began to suck him. _Kaffas,_ Krem sucked his cock like he worshiped it. Dorian was painfully hard and more than slightly regretful when Krem eventually released him.

Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hot and bothered with a client. Still, he remembered that Krem _was_ his client. “So, Cremisius,” he purred as he casually stroked himself. “Have you decided what you want yet?”

Krem’s gaze was an ocean of flames. “Fuck,” he sputtered. “You.”

Smiling, Dorian took a predatory step forward. Then climbed over Krem, pushing him back on the bed so that his head was on the pillows. Still smiling, Dorian reached for the front of Krem’s jeans.

_Pop!_ went the second button. Slowly, drawing out the moment, his eyes locked on Krem’s. Another button. A fourth. The fifth.

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

Dorian pulled them down, then waited as Krem kicked them the rest of the way off. Beneath the jeans, Krem wore tangerine-colored Joe Boxers.

For a second, Dorian paused because... well, in the heat of the moment he’d forgotten that Krem was trans. Which he was reminded of when he looked down and didn’t see the customary bulge he usually expected.

_Don’t hesitate,_ Dorian told himself. Taking his own advice, he then reached for the waistband of Krem’s boxers and pulled them off. Tossed them aside and then climbed back over Krem, kissing him feverishly as he lowered himself down.

Krem was all warm skin and hard body. Strong arms and gloriously muscular thighs. As Dorian thrust his hips up between them, Krem made a desperate _mmph!_ noise.

Dorian kissed and licked his way back down Krem’s body, enjoying the sounds Krem made, and the ripple of his muscles under Dorian’s hands. Once he’d reached Krem’s treasure trail again, Dorian knelt back, considering Krem’s hazy, turned-on face as he lightly raked his nails up Krem’s thighs.

Normally he wouldn’t have asked, but Krem hadn’t quite grasped the concept of giving Dorian orders. Furthermore, he had no idea of Krem’s comfort levels when it came to anyone touching his junk. “Would you like me to go down on you?” Dorian murmured.

Krem bit his lip. Voice raspy. “Yeah.”

Dorian nudged Krem’s legs wider. He’d read enough online in some of the transgender forums to know what to expect. What Krem had between his legs wasn’t male, but... well, Dorian knew what naked women looked like, and this was a bit different. From between the folds of flesh, Krem’s clit – _no, his dick_ – jutted out. Dorian settled himself down between Krem’s legs, and with tentative fingers spread back the outer lips, revealing the rest of Krem’s length. And though it was perhaps only two inches in length, it did actually resemble a cock.

Although this was unfamiliar territory, Dorian found the novelty of the situation strangely arousing. Ignoring the throb of his own cock now sandwiched between his body and the mattress, he set himself to the task.

Krem’s hands grasped the sheets as Dorian’s tongue flickered experimentally around the head of his shaft. Encouraged by this reaction, Dorian took the entirety of Krem’s length easily into his mouth. As he began to softly suck, Krem’s body jerked and the choked, desperate noise that escaped him made Dorian wonder if he hadn’t just broken the man.

As he continued to lightly suck, tongue swirling, Krem continued to claw the sheets. Between gasps, he growled a litany of curses at first in common – _shit fuck yes Dorian_ – then in Tevene, until he was reduced to hard panting punctuated by the occasional moan.

Krem’s orgasm came swift, and strong. Breath caught, head tossed back, Krem froze as the orgasm hit. There was no emission to swallow, but against his tongue, Dorian felt Krem’s cock pulsing as he came. Pinning Krem’s hips to the bed, Dorian sucked harder, as Krem grunted through the final waves.

A moment passed. Dorian leaned up on his elbows. Krem reached up a hand, rubbing at his flushed face. “Fuck, that was...” Krem paused, searching for the right word, and failing. “Just... fuck.”

Dorian shifted so that he was on his knees. He didn’t fail to note how Krem’s admiring gaze trailed down. Purposefully, Dorian flexed, causing his still erect cock to twitch. “Speaking of ‘fuck,’” he murmured seductively. “Shall we? You did pay for two hours, didn’t you? So there’s still plenty of time.”

Krem stared at him for a moment. He was clearly debating, but it didn’t take him long to decide what he wanted. The answer was in his eyes: he wanted _more._

Krem surged up. Hand at the nape of Dorian’s neck, reeling him in for another hungry kiss. Hand jerking up and down Dorian’s beautiful cock. Drawing back, his breath moist against Dorian’s lips. “Glove up.”

That was a definite command. Dorian wasted no time in scrambling across the bed to scoop up his jacket. Ripped the foil open with his teeth, fumbling with the condom as Krem took hold of his arms, pushing him so that he ended up in a sitting position, with his back against the headboard. Dorian just managed to finish rolling the condom on when Krem climbed over him to straddle his lap. Grabbing onto Dorian’s shoulders, Krem shifted slightly, eyes burning fiercely into Dorian’s for a few seconds before he thrust down.

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. Alistair – of all people – had given him some ultra-thin Japanese condoms recently, swearing that using them was the closest one could get to doing it without one. So the sensations weren’t as dull as he was used to. He was acutely aware that he was almost completely sheathed in Krem’s slippery heat. And he was acutely aware of one other thing.

He wasn’t in Krem’s ass.

Dorian didn’t have time to examine his feelings about that too closely, because Krem began to move. Slowly and teasingly slicking up and down Dorian’s cock at first, which made it difficult to think.

After a few minutes, Krem’s grip tightened around Dorian’s shoulders. Biting his lip, he began to ride Dorian harder.

Maker, fucking Krem felt good. As Krem continued to move over him, Dorian could almost forget that he was actually in... well, he didn’t know what else to call it, other than a vagina. Strangely, this hole didn’t feel that different from the other one, really, and everything about the man in his arms was hard and masculine and so very sexy. Especially the expression on Krem’s face when he snaked a hand down between his own legs, using a couple of fingers to jerk himself off.

Breathing heavy, Dorian held on tighter to Krem, now bucking up to meet Krem’s thrusts. Krem’s face was progressively becoming more dreamy, pupils blown wide open in heavy lidded eyes, mouth slack and wet, as the muscles in his thighs and abs flexed deliciously. Between his legs, Krem’s had motions became more frantic. They were both so close. And when Krem’s breath became jagged, Dorian redoubled his efforts, holding on tight and thrusting for all he was worth.

Krem’s eyes fluttered shut, and then he came again, body quivering as he choked on another cry. At the same time Dorian felt Krem tighten. Not just around the base, but convulsing all along his entire shaft, ripping his orgasm right out of him.

After, Dorian rested his forehead against Krem’s shoulder as he caught his breath. He only had one thought.

_Kaffas._

For a while they remained like that, until Dorian could feel himself begin to soften inside Krem. Clearly Krem felt it, too, because the redhead then disentangled himself from Dorian’s arms, leaning back a bit. “Dorian. I’m gonna get off you.”

Dorian slipped a hand down to hold the base of the condom in place as Krem climbed off. He then headed towards the bathroom whose door Krem had indicated when he asked. He peeled the prophylactic off, pissed, then – before he washed his hands, he couldn’t help but to take a curious sniff at his fingers which had touched the still-slick condom. Earthy and musky, but not entirely unpleasant.

Back in the bedroom, he reluctantly accepted the glass of clear liquid that Krem pressed into his hand.

“Water,” Krem said.

Krem had put his underwear back on and was drinking from his own glass. Dorian was quite sure he’d never seen his boss looking this relaxed, and that thought was enough to make him smile.

“Something amusing?” Krem asked.

Dorian gave Krem an innocent look. “There’s still plenty of time, if there are other things you’d like to do.”

Krem snorted a laugh. “Satisfaction guaranteed, right?”

Dorian smiled.

With a shrewd, calculating gaze, Krem considered Dorian as he took a long, slow sip of water. “Well, I suppose I could strap on the monster, then fuck you with it, right after I eat out your entire ass.”

Dorian continued to smile. “That sounds delightful,” he said demurely. “Though – if I may say so – it sounds like it would be far more pleasurable for me than for you.”

Lips pressed against the edge of his glass, Krem smirked. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Krem said. “The strap on? It vibrates.”

 


	15. Even Though You Treat Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his first date with Fenris.

It was a perfect sort of sunset that night. Through the window of the taxi, Dorian admired the scarlet and orange streaks that radiated near the rooftops in the deepening purplish sky, and the twinkle of the street lamps and the soft glow from the windows of the mansions they passed. Briefly, he wondered exactly in how many of these grand houses he’d sold his favors in the past few months. Certainly more than his fair share.

Once the taxi pulled up to his destination, Dorian paid the driver. At the door, he adjusted the cuff links beneath the sleeves of his tuxedo before ringing the doorbell.

The door opened a moment later. Dorian quickly assessed the woman that stood there. She was tall and somewhat attractive, with strong, angular features below a cap of short dark hair, and she wore a long, form-fitting and strapless red dress that would not have been out of place on a catwalk. Red shoes and a small sequined red clutch completed the outfit.

Cassandra Pentaghast.

“You must be Dorian,” Cassandra said. “They said you were handsome. But they didn’t tell me you were... exotic.”

Unfortunately, racism was a thing in this business, though he usually only had an occasional problem with his gay male clients, and not with the women he escorted. “If there’s a problem,” Dorian said coolly, “then the agency could send someone else–”

Cassandra huffed. “No. You’ll do. In fact, it will give my annoying family something to talk about. Now – we’ll be taking my car. It’s in the garage, so follow me. I’m driving.”

Before Dorian could even think of a response, Cassandra had turned and started walking back into the house. Dorian had no other choice but to scramble after her.

_At least she has no problems giving orders,_ he thought. Unlike a certain wickedly delightful client he’d had the night before, and – _wait._ Why was he thinking about Krem again? That wouldn’t do. He was being paid a lot of money to escort this Cassandra to a family gathering, so all of his attention needed to be focused solely on her. Even if she didn’t seem to want it, as evidenced by her apparent lack of interest to see if he were even following her. Which he was.

He only glimpsed the interior of the house. Clean and neat, with décor that was a little too simple and plain for Dorian’s tastes. Then they were at the garage, where a pretty little red Maserati convertible sat waiting.

Before Dorian could step in to open the car door for her, Cassandra had already opened it herself and slid into the driver’s seat, tossing her clutch down between the seats. Left without any other options, Dorian sat down beside her in the passenger seat.

The garage door opened with the click of a button, and at Cassandra’s touch, the engine purred to life.

_What a remarkably odd woman,_ Dorian decided as Cassandra, scowling, backed out of the driveway and turned into the street.

Dorian wasn’t used to being ignored by anyone, which seemed to be Cassandra’s intention. Was she that offended by his dark skin? Given what she’d said at the door, he didn’t think so. Dying to know, he leaned one elbow on the door of the car and regarded her curiously. “You know, Cassandra,” he said. “You don’t seem very happy that I’m here. If you didn’t want an escort, I wonder why you hired one.”

Steely gray eyes slid from the the road to the rear view mirror, to Dorian for a few seconds, then back to the road. “It has nothing to do with you personally,” she said. “I am a very busy woman. Some have criticized me for making work my priority, but I am happy with what I do. But this means that I have no time for dating. Hiring you gives me one less thing to worry over.”

None of this was surprising to Dorian. Most of the women he escorted hired him for the same reason.

Cassandra’s gaze flicked back to him again. “I am also sick of my family pressuring me to get married. Showing up at this party with a man will at least shut them up for a while.”

Dorian offered a smile. “If shutting them up is what you’d like, I’ll make it a point not to mention my status as the fallen heir to the Pavus fortune.”

Another flick of glance. “So, you _are_ that Pavus,” she said, as if Dorian had just confirmed her suspicion. “Not that it is any of my business. And it is most definitely _not_ the business of my family. My parents and my uncle in particular, they are very... old-fashioned.”

“Understood,” Dorian said in a chipper tone. “I will be whomever you need me to be.”

“What I need is for you to pretend that you are, indeed, my boyfriend,” Cassandra said. When she caught the swift look of alarm on Dorian’s face, she added, “Don’t worry. I do not expect you to hold my hand or otherwise show physical affection. However, it would benefit me greatly were you to admit to being in a romantic relationship with me.”

Dorian quickly composed himself. “I would be happy to oblige you in this,” he said. “However, if I may point out the obvious? Any time a woman appears with a new beau, there will invariably be questions.”

Cassandra frowned. “Questions?”

“How long we’ve been together. Where we met. Things like that.”

Cassandra flashed a wicked smile, her tone suddenly teasing, and Dorian realized that his evening wasn’t going to be as terrible as he’d originally supposed. “In that case,” she said, “we’d better come up with a story before we arrive at the party. Something you won’t easily forget.”

\-----------------------

The following day, Dorian found himself unexpectedly in the company of two of the Hawkes – Garrett and his sister, Bethany – as they rang the bell at an oddly quaint little door in the underbelly of Low Town, a small neighborhood known as the Alienage.

“Because it’s full of aliens,” Hawke quipped when Dorian remarked upon it.

Bethany rolled her eyes. “Dorian. Please tell me you only believe half of what my brother tells you.”

“I do,” Dorian smoothly replied. “But it’s the deciding which half is true which is the hardest part.”

Hawke dramatically pressed a hand to his chest, and tossed back his head. “I am wounded!” he claimed. “A pox on both your houses!”

“My house is your house,” Bethany pointed out.

“And a pox on my family’s house?” Dorian added. “I can think of nothing that would please me more. Except maybe to not be murdered in the streets of the Alienage.”

The door opened. Merrill greeted them with a smile, then quickly ushered them in. “It’s so lovely to have company,” she said. “Can I offer you some tea?”

As the women puttered about the kitchen, Dorian and Hawke settled themselves down at the kitchen table. The décor was nature-themed – pinecones, branches, dried flowers, smooth river rocks, and seashells in mason jars filled the surfaces – giving the room a cozy, homey atmosphere. Once Dorian had finished studying the room, his gaze fell upon Hawke, who was looking at him thoughtfully. “Something on your mind?”

“Not much, if you ask my sister,” Hawke said with a grin. “Seriously, though, I haven’t seen Cullen since the party. What’s he been up to?”

At the memory of the last time he’d seen Cullen, Dorian grimaced. “I don’t really know, and, to be quite frank, I really don’t care.”

Hawke paused. Then he shrugged lightly. His expression cryptic, he said, “Well, that’s probably for the best. All things considered.”

Dorian vaguely wondered what _that_ meant, but it was in that moment that the women set four tall half-white, half-celadon ceramic mugs, fragrantly steaming, onto the table before sitting down. Dorian considered the mugs, each one slightly different. “These are lovely. Did you make them, Merrill?”

Merrill visibly brightened. “Indeed I did,” she admitted. “Though it’s been a long time since I did any pottery.”

As they drank their tea, they chatted. Dorian found it to be a comfortable chatter. Which surprised him a little. Six months ago, he never would have imagined himself in a place like this, with people like this, while feeling perfectly at ease.

_How far you’ve come, Pavus,_ he mused to himself. Still, sometimes he missed his old life of luxury and intellectual pursuits. He missed Tevinter.

Once they’d finished their tea, Merrill turned to him. “Shall I show you my latest piece?” she asked. Then, suddenly shy, she added, “I mean, only if you want to. I wouldn’t wish to impose, because that would be rude of me. Which would be bad. Being rude, I mean.”

Hawke chuckled. “Merrill, that’s the reason I brought him here.”

Dorian smiled politely. “Yes, I’d be delighted.”

After they rose from the table, Merrill led them into her studio space. All sorts of interesting sculptures filled it, but Dorian’s eye was drawn immediately to the large mirror that stood in one corner. The frame itself was a mix of jagged-edged shards of metal and barbed wire painted black, and housed a looking glass that was intact, but full of cracks, as if it had been struck by a large hammer.

“This is it,” Merrill said. “It’s really a project of self-reflection – hence the use of the mirror – but also of the fractured self. I was thinking about how it feels when you’re pulled out of the environment you know, and then your old self is lost, so you find yourself playing many roles, and none of them are you... so it represents how the self gets fractured, and... Dorian? Are you quite all right?”

Dorian, able to relate, was touched by this. He wasn’t quite sure what his expression had been doing, but when Merrill put her hand on his arm, he smiled down at her. “Yes, I’m... I think I am now.”

With a knowing smile, Merrill patted his arm. “You know, if you ever need a friend in Kirkwall...”

Bethany stepped up to Dorian’s other side, and put her hand on his shoulder. “That goes for me, too.”

Touched again, Dorian blinked. “Thank you, my dears,” he said with a small catch in his throat. “You’re both very kind.” He covered Merrill’s hand with his own. “And your artwork is truly wonderful.”

As Merrill blushed, Dorian’s phone blipped. Automatically, Dorian pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

It had been so long since Fenris had promised to text him that Dorian had given up and almost forgotten about it. So when he saw the long-awaited-for text, he fumbled and nearly dropped the phone.

_r u free 2nite?_

Grinning like an idiot, Dorian quickly typed his response. _YES. Dinner?_

It seemed an eternity before Fenris texted him back, and he waited impatiently. He almost sighed with relief when the message came.

_abbey ht 7pm_

Dorian wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. He glanced at Hawke. “Do you know of a place called the Abbey in Hightown?”

“Oh, yeah, the Armsby Abbey on Chantry Street.” Hawke cocked a curious eyebrow. “Real fancy... why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Dorian replied flippantly, already typing his answer, _c u there._

_Kaffas, I’m using chatspeak,_ he thought, which was completely unlike him. He hated chatspeak. Clearly Fenris was rubbing off on him. Though to be honest... Fenris rubbing off on him wouldn’t be a thing he’d complain about.

_Well, whatever. Fuck it,_ Dorian thought, then hit send.

\-----------------------------

Waiting in front of the Armsby Abbey that evening, Dorian felt strangely nervous, like a boy going on his very first date with his flaming crush. First of all, it had taken him an eternity just to figure out what to wear. Yet after scrutinizing his reflection in nearly a dozen different outfits he’d finally settled on basic man armor: a black suit, white shirt, no tie.

Second of all, his palms were sweaty, and his mouth dry, and when Fenris strolled into view right as the nearby clocktower chimed the hour, his heart began hammering at double speed.

Dorian wasn’t the only one who had dressed up for their date. Fenris still wore all black – a black silk button down beneath a black suit, pointy black boots, and – to Dorian’s delight – the black trilby he’d purchased during their afternoon of shopping together.

“You look good,” Dorian said.

Fenris reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Ehh... so do you.”

“Thank you. Shall we go in?”

The inside of the restaurant was long and narrow like a train car, with tall tables on one side, and an impressive long bar on the other. All brick and dark wooden beams, the interior was softly lit from both the ceiling and from small floating candles in elegant bowls upon each table. Once seated, they perused the drink menu. At Fenris’ recommendation, they each ordered a cocktail called a Midsummer’s Night.

“Everything here is local and organic,” Fenris said as they next perused the dinner menu, “so the menu changes every season.”

Dorian perked up. “So no frozen snails from Orlais? I find that reassuring.”

A few minutes later, the waitress arrived with their cocktails. Dorian took a careful sip. Made with high-quality gin and a splash of elderflower liquor, and garnished with cucumber and a fresh sprig of rosemary, it was refreshing and delicious.

“This is amazing,” Dorian gushed.

“I recalled that you like gin.”

“How did you–? Oh, yes – Bull’s.”

They gave the waitress their food orders. Dorian opted to try the homemade tagliatelle with oyster mushrooms, while Fenris chose the blue mussels with leeks and homemade curry sauce.

The drink helped Dorian steady his nerves. Nerves which still needed settling every time he happened to glance up and look at the man sitting expectantly across from him, perched on his tall chair, and think, _He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen._

As they sipped their drinks, they conversed. It helped that they managed to stick to the topic of books – a subject Dorian truly enjoyed and about which Fenris was as knowledgeable about as a student of literature – until the food finally came.

It was art on a plate, sculpted by a master hand. And it tasted like heaven.

As they ate, the conversation shifted. Dorian spoke a bit about his family, about his best friend Felix. Fenris spoke a bit about his sister. It was obvious that he didn’t remember her very well, but that he still had fond feelings for her. Sadly, he revealed that he had no idea what had become of her.

“Have you ever thought of hiring a detective?” Dorian suggested. “Someone who could help you find her?”

Fenris shook his head. “I had not, but... I will consider it.”

After they’d eaten, they ordered another round of drinks. The drinks were strong, and Dorian felt pleasantly buzzed by the end of the second. And, as they lingered late over the third, they talked about anything and everything under the sun. Strange how easy it was to speak to Fenris, as though they’d known each other forever, and not just a few short months.

They split the check, and then Fenris offered to drive him home. Although Dorian, still quite tipsy himself, was unsure of how sober Fenris was, it was an offer he didn’t want to turn down.

A little while later, Fenris pulled up to Dorian’s building. Both hands on the wheel, Fenris leaned over to look up at the building through the windshield. “You live here?”

Dorian decided to ignore Fenris’ slight judgmental tone. “I assure you that it isn’t as bad as it looks. It has very clean cockroaches.”

There was a pause. Dorian suddenly felt awkward again. He was trying to decide between kissing Fenris and just getting out of the car, but then Fenris spoke. “I’ll... walk you to your door.”

A moment later, they both stood at the front door of the building. Around them, the night had cooled down, and the sky was full of stars. There, they both paused, and the ensuing silence was even more awkward than before.

_Wait – why is this so awkward?_ Dorian wondered. After all, it was customary to end a date with a kiss, and they’d already done far more than that. For Andraste’s sake, they’d fucked each other not once, but _twice_ already. On tape, even. With flogging and bondage involved.

_Ah, fuck it,_ Dorian thought, then reached for Fenris.

He’d kissed Fenris before, at Bull’s. But this time it was different. Without haste, Dorian slid one hand over Fenris’ shoulder, the other on the side of his hip. Urging Fenris closer, Dorian leaned down to press a very slow, very tentative kiss against Fenris’ soft, full lips.

As their lips touched, Dorian felt Fenris tense beneath his touch. A moment passed, and then Fenris relaxed into it, returning the kiss, all sweet pressure of Midsummer's Night-tainted lips against his.

After a long moment, they parted.

Half breathless, Dorian murmured, “Do you want to come upstairs?”

Fenris cleared his throat, suddenly shy again. “I, ah...” He laughed nervously. “This will probably sound strange, but... I don’t want to rush this.”

All hope and heart singing again, Dorian felt like he was light enough to be picked up by a random breeze, and drift up and away to the very moon. _This._.. Fenris had said. Which meant that _this_ was a real thing in Fenris’ mind. _A new relationship. A beginning._

“Believe me,” Dorian said, as earnestly as he could. “I understand completely.”

Relief washed over Fenris’ features. “I’m glad you understand.”

Dorian and Fenris smiled at each other for a moment.

“I’ll go,” Fenris said. “Good night.”

_I should have kissed him again,_ Dorian thought as Fenris turned, already heading back down the steps. “Fenris? Call me when you home?” he called out. When Fenris turned with an inquisitive look, Dorian added, “I just want to make sure you get back safely.”

“Of course,” Fenris said with a smile. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

 


	16. Like a Dancing Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his second date with Fenris.

It was a busy morning at Krem’s gym. Four of the regulars had shown up, and one had brought a guest. In theory, customers were a good thing, but too many at once made the small room feel cramped and steamy with man sweat. Not that Dorian had anything in particular against man sweat, depending on the context. Still, he was sort of glad that Krem was out at a doctor’s appointment instead of here, taking up more premium gym space.

Dorian hadn’t seen or heard from Krem since their night of passion. At least until this morning. Not for the first time, he took out his phone to ruminate over Krem’s most recent text.

_Dr appt in am. Please open gym. Grim has key._

_Kaffas, even his text messages are inscrutable,_ Dorian mused. Not that he’d expected or would even want Krem to go all flowers and poetry on him since they’d had sex. After all, he told himself, it had just been business as usual. Except that it hadn’t really. Krem was not some random stranger; Krem was his friend. And, in truth, the sex had been absolutely _amazing_.

Which left Dorian in a conundrum. On the one hand, Varric had taken Krem’s money, so Dorian had been paid. On the other, he’d been having such a good time that he’d staggered out of Krem’s apartment close to dawn, once they’d both been thoroughly sated with sex, far longer than the promised two hours, and he’d refused to take the offered tip. If he weren’t dating Fenris... well, he wouldn’t have been adverse to the idea of sleeping with Krem again at no charge.

Thus, Dorian remained mildly anxious until around noon, when the door opened and Krem finally breezed in.

“Hey, your highness,” Krem said. “How are things going?”

Dorian smiled lightly “As you can see, I’ve managed not to burn down the gym,” he said. “Also, it’s been like this all day.”

Krem nodded approvingly. “Good,” he said in the same teasing tone. “And I appreciate you not ruining my livelihood.”

“Brick is hard to burn.”

Krem considered the customers for a moment. “I gotta make a few calls. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

Dorian watched Krem vanish through the door in back. For a moment he was relieved that Krem had acted like nothing had happened. Except then his intuition started nagging at him that something was wrong.

_But something did happen,_ he thought. It wasn’t just business as usual for Krem. Krem wasn’t like Dorian’s other clients in the slightest. Those men lacked Krem’s high moral fiber. If anything, it was a sign of Krem’s desperation for any sort of intimacy that he would be willing to illegally pay for it.

Vaguely concerned, he considered his options. The best thing to do, he decided, would be to confront Krem. Get everything out in the open.

Sliding down from his perch behind the counter, Dorian headed into the back room.

Krem wasn’t on the phone, but he was working on his tablet. He glanced up curiously as Dorian entered.

“So, Krem...?” Dorian began, then faltered.

Krem immediately became wary.“Yeah?”

Something about that look caused Dorian to suddenly change his mind. “Ah, nothing. Just came for some towels.”

He moved over to the shelf and began to pick through the towels.

Krem’s voice was flat. “Dorian.”

Dorian let go of the towels and turned to look at Krem.

Krem sighed. “You got something to say, just say it.”

Dorian cleared his throat. _Well, here goes..._ “No, just... about the other night, I mean. I just don’t want any misunderstanding between us...”

Silence fell. In the pause, Krem carefully set down his tablet. For a moment he just stared down at it, though Dorian didn’t believe for a second that he actually saw what was on the screen. After another moment, Krem lifted his gaze to meet Dorian’s. “Look,” he said. “I like you.”

Certainly there were worse things Krem could have said. Relieved, Dorian smiled. “I like you.”

Krem grimaced a bit. “No, I mean I... I _like_ you.”

That truth hit Dorian like a slap, and he flustered. “Oh! I... uh... well, I’m sort of seeing someone right now...”

A muscle twitched in Krem’s jaw. With bitterness, he muttered under his breath so that Dorian almost didn’t catch the words, “Yeah. Of course you are.”

Dorian Pavus, the man who always had a witty response on the tip of his tongue, was suddenly rendered speechless. He really didn’t know what to say to diffuse the tension in the room, thick and cold as a slab of butter. _Honesty,_ he told himself. _Honesty is the best policy..._ “You know, Cremisius. I do value you as a friend – ”

Krem cut him off with a voice like hot steel. “Fuck. Just spare me the ‘let’s be friends’ speech.”

The same words Dorian had said to Cullen. He felt his heart sink.

“Actually,” Krem said suddenly, “we’re done here. Just clear out your shit and go.”

Once Krem made up his mind, there was no changing it. Arguing would have been pointless, and Dorian knew it. “If that’s truly what you wish...”

“It is.”

Dorian slunk out of the office, feeling despondent. At the counter, he slowly gathered up his things, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, and trying not to cry. Krem was the only real friend he had in Kirkwall, and now he’d managed to fuck up their friendship. Already he was replaying all the things he’d done wrong. He shouldn’t have flirted with Krem at the party and led him on. He should have refused to have sex with him. He should have made it clear that he wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship from the beginning. He should have –

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the chime of the door as it opened. He only realized that someone had entered when a familiar voice broke into his self-pitying reverie.

“Well, well, well,” drawled the voice, “if it isn’t Dorian Pavus, King of Tevinter, and Prince of Thedas.”

Dorian startled. _It can’t be..._ he thought, but when he looked up, his disbelief washed away as he met the smiling eyes of his best friend in all the world, standing impossibly in Krem’s gym:

Felix Alexius.

\-------------------------

Dorian’s initial surprise finally wore off at some point during lunch at one of Hightown’s better bistros, which Felix insisted – unnecessarily – to pay for. Afterwards, they picked up two lattes which they drank as they strolled around town so that Dorian could show him some of the city’s more interesting architecture. An activity that had bored them as children, but now, as Felix’s major in college, was a fascinating and educational way to pass the afternoon. Finally, Felix had insisted that Dorian show him his apartment, so they caught a cab back to Low Town.

Wry amusement sparkled in Felix’s eyes as he poked around Dorian’s less-than-impressive quarters. “You really live here, Dorian?” he teased. “The way you talked, I thought the escort business was more... lucrative.”

Dorian gave his friend a genuine smile. “Funny how easy it is to be magnanimous when you’re spending your family’s fortune,” he said. “But when you actually have to work for it, suddenly a three thousand dollar sofa turns out to be less than essential.”

Felix continued to roam about, then stopped before the living room’s bookshelf. There, he fingered Dorian’s prize possession – a leather-bound collection of Oscar Wilde’s works. “I can see what you spend your money on, instead of sofas.”

“That,” Dorian agreed, feeling positively chipper, “and wine and clothes.”

Felix continued to peruse the shelf for another moment. Then he turned back to Dorian. “Are you happy?”

“Being paid to have sex?” Dorian said with a grin. “There are worse fates.”

Felix laughed. “Perhaps I’ve made the wrong life choices. Do you think it’s too late for me? You did say that you escorted beautiful women to fancy parties. I don’t think I’d mind doing that.”

“What, and give up your pampered life in Tevinter?” Dorian teased. “Not that I’d mind the company, of course.”

Felix leaned back against the bookshelf, then folded his arms, giving Dorian a shrewd look. “Speaking of company... these guys you work with. I feel like I already know them from what you’ve told me. You must introduce me to them.”

Dorian balked. “I must do no such thing!”

“You absolutely must. Remember in high school, the night of the Twilight Dance?”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “Are you... _blackmailing_ me?”

Felix’s eyes twinkled again. “It does seem, Dorian, that you are no position to say no.”

Thus, a few hours later, Dorian found himself with Felix at the Hanged Man, in the company of the escorts he’d been able to round up at the last minute: Hawke, Carver, Zevran, Anders and Fenris.

“Brother!” Hawke boomed. “Go get Dorian’s friend some of the Hanged Man’s finest!”

Once Carver slid the requested beverage in front of Felix, Dorian placed a hand on Felix’s wrist, murmuring under his breath, “I assure you that you do not want to drink that.”

Hawke, having overheard, said, “It’s perfectly fine, if you like swill. Also – it’s tradition. New guy always gets swill.”

Felix twisted his arm loose of Dorian’s grasp and raised his glass. “If it’s tradition, Dorian, then it must be followed.”

“Seriously, I’m warning you. It tastes like ass.”

Felix made a show of bracing himself before he took a big swallow. Then sputtering, he eyed Dorian with amazement. “Maker’s balls!” he exclaimed. “It really does taste like ass!”

Dorian laughed. “I did try to warn you. Next time, you may want to heed my advice.”

As the evening progressed, Fenris was quiet, Hawke was loud, Carver rolled his eyes, Anders continually squeezed Hawke’s thigh under the table, and Zevran flirted with everyone. However, the evening was short-lived, as both Hawkes had clients to meet, and Anders had already made plans to meet up with a friend in Darktown.

Felix, face flushed, slapped a hand down on Dorian’s shoulder after they had risen from the table. “You know I’m only in town for one night. There’s no room at your place, so why don’t you come stay at the hotel with me?”

In a flash, Zevran had insinuated himself between the two men. “I have an idea, gentlemen,” he purred. “If you are both to be spending the night in a fine hotel room, wouldn’t it be a lot more fun if there were three of us? We could... get to know each other better.”

Before Dorian could respond, Fenris appeared possessively at his side. His gaze was a marksman, shooting knives straight into Zevran’s heart. “That depends. How much do you wish to test that luck of yours?”

“Oh, I see,” Zevran said, then gave Dorian a knowing look. “Fair enough. In that case, I will have to find my own entertainments for the evening, so I will wish you all a good night.”

As Zevran slipped off, Fenris swung his keychain around his finger once before catching it in his palm. “If you would like a ride, I am heading back to Hightown. I assume the hotel is there?”

“It is,” Felix said. “Dorian? What say you? It will give us more time together.”

Dorian grinned. “As long as I let you buy me breakfast in the morning.”

Fenris tilted his chin at the others. “Hawkes. I assume you also would like a ride.”

Carver shrugged. “Five of us would be a tight squeeze in your car, but I’m not going to turn down a lift to Hightown.”

“HA!” Hawke yelled, then pounced on Carver, grabbing him in a headlock and knuckling his head. “My brother, the opportunist!” He fake-sniffled. “Mother would have been so proud.”

Outside the Hanged Man, they piled into Fenris’ car. As if claiming his place, Dorian moved purposely to the passenger side, sliding in next to Fenris. Felix joined the Hawkes in the not very spacious backseat.

“Well,” Felix said once they had dropped the Hawkes off at their respective destinations, “that was most interesting.”

Dorian turned to glance over his shoulder. “Just remember – you asked for it. Or rather, I should say, you blackmailed me into it.”

One of Fenris’ dark eyebrows twitched up. “Blackmailed?”

As Felix chuckled softly, Dorian turned back around. “Oh, that. Just some youthful hi-jinks. Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”

A small smile played on Fenris’ lips. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it tomorrow night. I know a place where we could shoot some pool, if you’re interested.”

A date with Fenris doing anything was better than anything else Dorian could imagine. He would willingly agree to get up before dawn and search for worm bait if Fenris expressed an interest in fishing. “Yes!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “I am indeed incredibly interested.”

Fenris kept his eyes on the road, but Dorian couldn’t help but notice how Fenris’ smile grew.

A minute later, Fenris pulled up in front of the hotel. For a moment Fenris and Dorian just sat without speaking, gazes locked.

Felix looked at one man, then the other, before speaking in a knowing tone. “Dorian, if you’re going to kiss your boyfriend, then I’ll meet you inside. Room 246.” Opening the door, he slid out, then stuck his head back in. “It was delightful to meet you, Fenris.”

“Same here,” Fenris replied. Then Felix withdrew, shutting the door behind him.

For another moment, Fenris and Dorian just gazed at each other in the awkward silence.

Finally Fenris cleared his throat. “I... I should just go.”

Dorian glanced around. The doorman was watching them with suspicion, so kissing Fenris good night was probably not the wisest thing to do, but, then again, no one had ever accused Dorian Pavus of being wise.

_Fuck that guy,_ he thought, then leaned over to plant a soft kiss on Fenris’ cheek.

Pulling back, he was thrilled to see a bit of a blush creep into that cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dorian said. “Good night.”

“Yes... good night,” Fenris echoed.

Dorian stepped out of the car. Practically danced through the door of the hotel, ignoring the dirty look of disapproval from the doorman, as his heart sang again, his soul light as air, and his head all full of stars, thinking,

_I am completely, totally, and absolutely in love with that man._

\---------------------------------

The Herald’s Rest boasted two pool tables downstairs, and three more upstairs. After they’d ordered drinks at the bar, they claimed one of the downstairs tables. Once Dorian had racked the balls, Fenris broke them with a resounding _crack!_

He’d also sunk the nine ball, and chose stripes. To Dorian’s surprise, Fenris was very good at this game. Like hustle good. But, even though he spent most of the evening losing, he didn’t really care, due to the vast amounts of pleasure he got from watching Fenris stalk around the table, choosing his shot, and then bending over to shoot.

“Will you ever go back?” Fenris asked in-between shots during their third game.

“Go back...?”

“To Tevinter.”

Interestingly, that was the first time that Fenris had brought up the subject of their homeland. Dorian had followed Cullen’s advice about not mentioning Tevinter, so he and Fenris hadn’t spoken of it except for that night when they had disclosed their reasons for leaving.

“I admit that I do miss my homeland,” Dorian said. “Despite its problems. And Felix is there. Still, I couldn’t set foot in Qarinus without my father hearing of it.”

Fenris, leaning over the table, glanced up through his hair. “Do you really care so much for what your father thinks?”

“My father can drop dead, for all I care,” Dorian said. “If I’m lucky there’s a chance that he hasn’t gotten around to changing the will yet.”

Fenris cocked his head. “I might still know some people in Minrathous that could help you with your wish.”

Dorian fixed Fenris in a long stare. “You know, I can’t always tell if you’re joking or not,” he said lightly. Then, “What about you? Do you ever think of going back?”

Fenris straightened. Squeezed his cue stick with one hand as the other tapped a quick rhythm against the edge of the table. “I’ve been considering what you said. About hiring someone to find my sister,” he admitted. “However, if I do find her, I have no desire to return, so I would arrange for her to come here.”

With genuine curiosity, Dorian asked, “Is she like you?”

Fenris made a vague gesture. “I hardly remember her. She had red hair. And a temper.”

“Those things often go together.”

“Your turn.”

They played a few more games. Once the novelty of losing had worn off, Dorian suggested they sit at one of the tables and have another drink. This turned into another drink, then the hour grew late, then Fenris announced that he had a job early in the morning, and offered to drive Dorian home.

“You know, we could just meet in Low Town,” Dorian teased as he slipped into his coat.

“I would still be driving to Low Town. And then taking a taxi to the police station, after someone steals my car.”

“Oh, Low Town isn’t that bad,” Dorian said, though he knew that it was.

“I strongly suggest you consider moving to a better neighborhood,” Fenris said as he held the door open for Dorian. “I do not doubt you could afford it.”

As they walked to the car, Dorian considered that. Given the vast amounts of money he was now making at the agency, a small apartment in Hightown was certainly within his grasp. The old Dorian would have moved back into the relative lap of luxury quite some time ago. But he wasn’t that Dorian anymore. Other than his few indulgences, Dorian had discovered that he rather enjoyed living a simple life, and that material objects – other than books, fine wine and designer shoes – contributed little to nothing to his happiness.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain this to Fenris, who clearly had his own viewpoint on the power of money to buy happiness. Instead, he just said, “Perhaps I’m saving up for a rainy day.”

Unconvinced, Fenris just shook his head.

Once they’d arrived at Dorian’s building, Fenris once again walked him to the door. Men in Dorian’s past had made extravagant gestures to win him over, but those gestures had said more about the extravagance of the men, rather than their actual feeling about Dorian. This gesture of Fenris’ was different – it was thoughtful. Well-meant. He liked that.

At the door, Dorian seized the moment before the usual awkwardness could set in. “Do you want to come upstairs?”

Fenris stared at the door for a moment, clearly considering. Then, turning back to Dorian with a light shake of his head, he said, “I... I don’t think I should.”

Unsurprised, Dorian hid his disappointment. “All right,” he said mildly. “Though, to be clear, I do expect a kiss good night.”

Fenris awkwardly cleared his throat. “That would be, ah... acceptable.”

Dorian leaned in as he reached for Fenris. Fenris’ hands fell naturally to Dorian’s hips as if they belonged there. Bending his head, Dorian brushed his lips across Fenris’.

At the touch, a warmth infused his chest. He let one hand cup Fenris’ jaw, the other sneaking behind to stroke the slender nape of his neck. Soft, warm skin over hard muscle and bone. Sweet taste of lime lingering from Fenris’ drink on his lips. His senses all full of apples. Maker, kissing Fenris was divine.

Lips parted. Tongues tentatively met. And then Fenris was tugging Dorian closer as he thrust his tongue a bit further into Dorian’s mouth. Hearts racing as tongues slid together, then danced. Soft white hair in his fingers as he slid his hand up. Let himself be tugged even closer so their bodies met. Against his hip he could feel Fenris harden, and when Fenris moaned softly into his mouth, Dorian’s member responded in kind.

Lost in kissing Fenris, Dorian lost track of time. It could have been a few minutes, or an eternity. All he knew was that by the time they parted, they were both breathless and hard as steel. And that he didn’t want to stop.

As Dorian leaned in again, Fenris placed a hand on his chest. Maintaining his distance. “That was... nice.”

Not the word Dorian would have used. “Nice?”

“Ah... better than nice.”

Dorian covered Fenris’ hand with his own, surprised by how hot it was. “I don’t disagree.”

Fenris cleared his throat again. Surreptitiously adjusted himself as he stepped back. “I should go,” he said. “But I’ll call you.”

Dorian wished him a good night, then lingered at the door to watch Fenris walk away. As he did so, he considered the soft, floaty feeling he had. It was something vaguely familiar, but there was a quality to it that he’d never quite felt before.

Was it happiness?

He supposed it was.

 


	17. Toss Your Bear a Goldfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerned, Dorian seeks out Cullen.

As Dorian slid into the seat at the bar of the lounge, he gave Anders an incredulous look. “I can’t believe it. Is Zevran actually reading a _book?”_

Anders’ eyes laughed.

“I heard that,” Zevran drawled from his place on one of the sofas. “And since, my dear friend, you seem to be immensely fascinated by my activities, I will tell you that I am not just ‘reading a book’ as you say. To be most specific, I am studying.”

Anders slid a cup of espresso before Dorian, and spooned some foam on top of it. His eyes still sparking with amusement, he said, “He’s been studying for at least an hour.”

Dorian reached for the sugar as he glanced back over to Zevran. “Not that I disapprove of this activity, but what, exactly, are you studying?”

“I would have you know that I have been accepted into the Kirkwall Institute of Art, where I will be studying fashion.”

From the other sofa, Hawke barked a laugh. “School’s a waste of time, if you want my opinion,” he said. “Everything worth knowing? I learned it on the streets.”

Zevran raised an eyebrow. “My dear Hawke? Nobody wants your opinion.”

“Anders does.”

Zevran tsked. “I think you are mistaken. It’s not your opinion that Anders wants. It’s your cock.”

At this, Anders just shrugged, as if to say, _What can I say? It’s true._

Hawke wailed. “Et tu, Anders!”

Sipping his cappuccino, Dorian turned a little more fully in his chair towards Zevran. “I had no idea you were interested in the arts.”

“Other than the arts of pleasure, you mean,” Zevran replied with a sugary grin. “But, yes. I’m studying fashion. And when I’m done, Isabela and I were discussing the possibility of starting our own business making custom leather.”

“Leather?”

“Growing up in Antiva... they produce some of the finest leather. My mother had these beautiful gloves made of the best Antivan leather...”

Dorian listened politely as Zevran waxed poetic about leather. In truth, his business idea turned out to be a lot more sound than Dorian would have expected from someone like Zevran. In fact, there was a calculating and shrewd business sense beneath the frivolous surface.

Or at least he tried to listen. It was difficult, for his mind continued to wander, worrying...

“Something bothering you?” Anders asked in the ensuing lull in the conversation. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

Dorian paused. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to have another opinion. “Actually, yes,” he admitted. “My boss from the gym – the man I brought to your party – well, frankly he’s not speaking to me anymore.”

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to listen as Dorian sketched out the situation – basically how the date had ended badly due to Dorian’s insensitivity, followed by the night they’d spent together, and then how Krem had kicked him out of the gym when he’d admitted that he was seeing someone else. Once he’d finished explaining, he waited for the others to speak.

“I am not surprised,” Zevran said. “Sex can complicate things.”

“If you ask me – which you are,” Hawke said, serious for once, “this had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with feelings.”

“Hmm,” Dorian said.

Anders pushed a loose lock of hair behind his ear. “I mostly agree with Hawke,” he said. “It was obvious that Krem had feelings for you. Throwing sex into the mix probably only cemented those feelings.”

Dorian mulled that over. Apparently he was the only one who’d been oblivious to the depth of Krem’s feelings. At least until Krem’s confession in the office that he _liked_ Dorian. “So... what should I do?”

“He probably feels rejected,” Anders said. Before Dorian could protest, Anders held up a hand to silence him. “I know you probably didn’t mean to, but right now he’s hurt. It’s hard to say when or if he’ll get over it. Maybe a few days. Maybe never. But the best thing to do? Give him some space. Or – if you have to – apologize.”

Should he apologize? If the guilt nagging at him were any indication, the answer was a resounding yes. Assuming Krem would even be willing to listen to him. At the prospect of returning to the gym, Dorian felt himself withering up inside. Perhaps an apology by text – although cowardly – would be better than nothing?

While Dorian was ruminating, Varric tottered into the lounge, voice booming. “Boys? Has anyone seen Curly in the past two weeks?” Varric scanned the room as everyone shrugged or shook their heads, before his attention came to a stop at the bar. “Sparkles?”

Most likely Dorian had been the last person to see Cullen, after the party. _And that had ended fabulously,_ he thought bitterly. “Not in the past two weeks, no.”

Varric frowned. “Well, he isn’t answering his phone. Let’s just say I’m concerned. So if any one of you hears from him or sees him, please let me know.”

\---------------------------------

Varric’s concern only served to spark Dorian’s own. He’d tried sending a few texts, but he’d received no response. Yes, it was possible that Cullen had lost his phone and hadn’t yet informed the agency of his new number. But Dorian didn’t think so. The handsome blond had chosen to go incommunicado.

Either that, or he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, undiscovered.

Not that Dorian was a morbid type of man, ready to assume the worst. But he’d never gotten Cullen’s early warnings out of his head about bad things that had happened to escorts. This, despite the fact that Varric had reassured them all that Cullen hadn’t taken any jobs since before Anders’ party. He was nevertheless convinced that something bad had happened to Cullen.

This fear drove him from the Tethras mansion, straight down to the Docks. If necessary, he would break Cullen’s door down to find out the truth.

Breaking the door down turned out to be unnecessary. After Dorian delivered a rapid and loud series of determined knocks, Cullen opened the door a crack to peer out. Irritated, he muttered, “Yes, what in the bloody –? Oh. Dorian.”

Dorian was stunned by Cullen’s appearance. He’d never seen Cullen looking anything but well-groomed and, well... perfect. Now, his hair was in complete disarray, his clothing wrinkled and disheveled, and he sported several days’ worth of dark blond stubble. Even worse, he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. And, worst of all, his pupils were two tiny pinpricks almost lost in a sea of honey brown.

His voice sounded unused, scratchy like claws on wood. “Dorian? Why are you here?”

Dorian finally found his tongue. “No one has heard from you in weeks! Varric and the rest of us – we’re worried about you.”

Head against the door frame, Cullen sighed. “Just – just leave me be. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Dorian said. “Let me in.”

In response, Cullen began to close the door in Dorian’s face. Dorian had never done this before, but he’d seen it in movies often enough – moving quick, he shoved his foot into the door, keeping it from being shut.

A flash of confusion passed briefly over Cullen’s face. Then the irritation returned, more evident than before. “I said leave me be,” he growled. “Just go!”

Steadfast, Dorian’s voice rose. “And I’m not going anywhere until you let me in!”

For a long moment, the two men stared at each other in a silent battle of wills.

Finally Cullen looked away. Then he stepped back from the door, granting Dorian access.

Moving quickly again, before Cullen could change his mind, Dorian stormed into the living room. His eyes scanned the room before falling to the coffee table where – to his horror – was a collection of drug paraphernalia: cellophane bags with a trace of powder, dirty cotton filters, black-bottomed spoons, and syringes. Turning, his eyes fell to Cullen’s arms, seeking out the tell-tale signs that Cullen had indeed been using drugs intravenously, and noting – again with horror – track marks and bruises on the crook of Cullen’s left arm.

“Maker, Cullen – what have you been doing to yourself? Why?” Dorian wailed. When Cullen hung his head, Dorian continued. “And how long, exactly, has this been going on?”

Hands tucked into his armpits, Cullen rocked back and forth on the balls of his bare feet. “A long time, if you must know,” he admitted. “A long time before I met you.”

“I... no, I can’t believe that.”

“Because I had it under control,” he said, then attempted to correct himself. “Have it.”

Dorian scoffed. “Under control?” He pointed accusingly at the paraphernalia on the table. “Those are _needles_ , Cullen. You’re injecting yourself with heroin! You are the last thing from having anything under control!”

At those words, something in Cullen seemed to break. He sank down onto the sofa. Face buried in his hands, his voice was muffled. “Forgive me. I never meant for this to interfere. You _should_ be questioning what I’ve done. I thought this would be better. That I would retain some control over my life. Please, Dorian. Help me.”

At that Dorian froze. Maker, what was he supposed to do? He had absolutely no experience in these matters. He wanted to help Cullen, but he just didn’t know how. His thoughts raced, seeking out a solution.

_I know someone,_ he realized. _Someone who will know what to do. Someone who can fix this._

One phone conversation and twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

Dorian opened it. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I really didn’t know who else to call.”

Fenris shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said. “Where’s Cullen?”

“He’s here. Please – come in.”

Dorian closed the door behind Fenris as he slipped inside. Like Dorian had, Fenris did a quick scan of the room, his gaze drawn to Cullen, who still sat on the couch. Then, when his gaze fell to the table before Cullen, he visibly stiffened.

Dorian caught the movement. For a second he wondered, then it struck him. He hadn’t even thought about what effect being around drugs would do to Fenris. _I asked him to face his demons – what was I even thinking?_ He wanted to apologize to Fenris on the spot, tell him to leave right away, that he didn’t have to do this.

“Fenris?” he began, his words tumbling out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about what this would be like for you, given your past–”

Fenris cut him off. “Dorian. It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Dorian sagged, still feeling that he’d caused the man he loved discomfort. “If you’re absolutely sure...”

Fenris nodded. Then he picked his way over to the sofa, where he sat down. “Cullen. Tell me about your habit. How long. How much.”

Dorian hung back, listening as Cullen spoke about his drug use. How it had started perhaps a year ago. How he’d partied with his clients, who’d given him free drugs: poppers, speed, pot, ecstasy. How harmless it had all seemed for a long time, something he’d only do occasion. But, then he was getting high every weekend. He’d kept to weekends only for several months. Eventually, he’d started doing drugs during the week. Sometimes cocaine. And then, when Samson had introduced him to heroin...

“Samson?” Fenris asked.

“Yes,” Cullen said. He then glanced at Dorian. “You met him.”

“Yes,” Dorian snapped. “He’s a transphobic asshole who insulted my friend.”

“Dorian,” Fenris said softly. “We’re not here to judge.”

If it had been anyone else other than Fenris, Dorian would have vocalized his judgment of this Samson anyway. Not for the first time, he wished he’d actually punched the man, now not only for what he’d done to Krem, but to Cullen, as well. Unable to further express his loathing, he seethed in silence.

Fenris studied Cullen for a long moment before he asked his question. “Cullen. I’ve been down this road before. I can help you, but you have to answer this truthfully: Do you want to quit?”

Cullen looked first at Dorian, then back to Fenris. Then he stared down into his lap for a moment, biting his lip. When he lifted his head again, there was a clarity of purpose in his eyes. “Maker, yes,” he sighed. “I want my life back.”

\--------------------------------------

Unexpectedly, Dorian found himself at Morrigan’s Wilds, a tiny little tea shop tucked away in a side street on the edge of Hightown, sitting on the floor among velvety cushions with his legs tucked under him in a dimly lit niche, in the company of two women.

It had been a last-minute invitation, one which Dorian had nearly declined. However, after a moment’s reflection, he’d come to the conclusion that – after what had happened with Cullen – he could truly use a distraction. He suspected that Bethany Hawke was aware of the “Cullen situation.” After Fenris had used his contacts to get the addled blond the help he needed, Dorian had reported to the Tethras brothers. And, as news traveled fast through the agency, no doubt Bethany had heard all the gory details from her brothers.

Fragrant steam rose up from the stream of tea as Merrill politely filled their cups. “I think you’ll like this. It’s a black tea with vanilla, caramel, and just a touch of cinnamon.”

“I’m not much of a tea drinker,” Dorian admitted as he spooned two sugars into his cup. “Though I’ll try anything once.”

“You should try the poppyseed cakes, too,” Bethany suggested. “They’re made with green tea. They’re absolutely wonderful.”

Dorian reached for one of the teacakes on the platter set upon the low table between them. “I take it you ladies come here often?”

“I do!” Merrill said. “Usually I’m alone. But it’s still quite nice, you know, to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.”

Dorian sipped his tea. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t much to his liking. Briefly he lamented not having ordered that green tea that had caught his eye – _Dragon something._ Then he found himself smiling at the thought of Felix, who erroneously insisted that all green tea tasted like freshly-mowed grass.

Bethany looked thoughtful as she tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I heard about what happened to Cullen,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

_There it is._ He’d suspected the subject would come up sooner or later. Only he’d hoped not so soon. But apparently Bethany – like her eldest brother – didn’t bother beating around the bush. “Surely you’ve heard everything,” he said. “I doubt I could shed any more light on the matter.”

Bethany hummed. “I know that Cullen got in over his head. And that Fenris managed to get him into the best rehab program in Kirkwall,” she revealed. “What I don’t know is how you feel about it.”

Dorian ran his finger around the lip of his teacup as he considered the question. He knew how he felt, but did he want to admit it? To two perfect strangers? Though perhaps because they were practically strangers, it made it much easier for him to be candid. “How do I feel? I feel betrayed.”

“Oh dear,” Merrill muttered. “That’s terrible! Surely you know that what happened had nothing to do with you. Drug addiction – it’s like a disease.”

“He lied to me,” Dorian said. “Well, maybe he didn’t lie outright to my face, but... he hid it. All of it. Even though we were intimate – I had no idea.”

“The poor man!” Merrill exclaimed. “He was probably too ashamed.”

“Even so, I... well...” Dorian trailed off with a heavy sigh. “Despite all that, I still have feelings for him.”

As Merrill’s wide eyes grew larger, Bethany thoughtfully nibbled on a cake. She swallowed, then said, “It’s normal to have feelings for him, Dorian. If you could just turn your feelings off, then you wouldn’t be human.”

Dorian considered that. “Yes, I... I suppose that’s true.”

Merrill suddenly brightened. “But what about that man from the party? The handsome one with the red hair?”

Even though he didn’t care for the tea, he allowed Merrill to refill his cup, to buy himself some time. Finally, he admitted, “Well, you see, that also turned out rather poorly, on the account of my being an ass. I tried texting him an apology, but he has, so far, refused to answer.”

“Dorian,” Bethany chided him. “What did you do?”

Dorian explained what had happened with Krem, in more detail than he had given the boys, from the evening of the party to the moment that Krem fired him and kicked him out of the gym.

“Given those muscles, I should have known he had a gym,” Bethany said.

Merrill had spent the entire time fretting. “It isn’t my place to say, but perhaps you should consider apologizing face to face? Texting is just so informal, don’t you think? And I think you’d have a better chance at reconciliation if you told him how sorry you were in person.”

Going back to the gym was the last thing Dorian wanted to do. “Surely there must be another solution.”

Both women fell silent, lost in thought.

Merrill suddenly brightened again. “Ooh! I know. Perhaps a letter? One that’s heartfelt.”

Bethany smiled into her cup. “Don’t mind Merrill. She’s an incurable romantic.”

The other woman blinked. “You say that like being a romantic is some horrible disease.”

“In your case, it might be.”

Merrill pouted. “I just believe that Dorian deserves to be happy. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Well, in fact,” Dorian said, “I am seeing someone and it’s going rather well.”

Merrill’s face lit up like a Satinalia tree. “Really? And are you in love?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “I can’t speak for him, but... I think I am. Only... I don’t know if I should tell him.”

“Of course you should,” Merrill insisted. “Perhaps he feels the same!”

Bethany leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with delight. “You’re in love with Fenris?” she asked. Seeing Dorian’s look of surprise, she added, “My brother told me that the two of you had started dating.”

Dorian didn’t have to ask which brother. “Ah. Of course he did.”

“Fenris?” Merrill echoed. “Oh.” Her lips tilted down into a small frown. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“Err, well,” Dorian said quickly and smoothly, “I’d say that Fenris doesn’t like anyone very much.”

Bethany’s smile became cryptic. “That’s not what I heard,” she said.

 


	18. As it Cycles By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian visits Cullen, then goes on this third date with Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who left kudos and the kind comments! Especially since I suck at responding to them. Hopefully the helping of smut in this chapter will make up for my negligence. :)

It was a nondescript sand-colored building sandwiched between an elementary school and a pizza parlor in the better part of Low Town. No signs or plaques were immediately visible to the visitor either outside the imposing gate, nor at the door itself.

As Hawke rang the doorbell, Dorian took the opportunity to study the building more closely. Trellises with rose vines, heavily-curtained windows on the first floor. Nothing to announce that it housed a rehabilitation center. In the near distance, the sounds of children at recess, exuberant shouting and laughter. He nearly asked Hawke if he were certain that this was indeed the correct address, but then a slim, blond man in scrubs answered the door.

After a brief exchange, they were led inside, through a rather formal looking room filled with comfy chairs and plump couches that was some sort of combination of sitting room and waiting area, to a door in back. From a ring heavy with keys, the male nurse unlocked the imposing metal door before ushering them inside.

The door clanged loudly as it swung shut. Dorian felt a strange spark of apprehension as he realized he was now locked in.

“Precautionary measure,” said the nurse as if reading Dorian’s unease. “To keep our residents safe.”

“Safe from what, precisely?” Dorian wondered out loud.

The nurse gave him a wry smile. “From themselves mostly.”

Past the door, the interior of the building took on a more hospital-like appearance. They continued down a brightly-lit corridor which opened up and branched off around a glassed-in nurses’ station. As they passed by a series of rooms, Dorian snuck a glimpse inside a few of them, somewhat relieved to see that they were furnished more like bedrooms than hospital rooms, each holding a bed with a brightly-colored spread, a white-curtained window, a small desk and chair, and even a rug. More cozy than the cold, antiseptic atmosphere that he’d been imagining.

At the end of the hall, the man brought them into a large room crammed with tables and chairs. Some men sat watching the TV in the corner, while others played checkers. Among them, at a table in the middle of the room, Cullen sat reading.

As Dorian and Hawke entered, Cullen sat down his book and smiled.

Sitting down, Hawke slid the paper cup he’d been carrying in front of Cullen. Lifting the lid, Cullen gave it a quick sniff, then brightened. “Maker bless you, you brought real coffee,” he said. “The stuff they serve here looks like dirty water and tastes like mud.”

Hawke grinned easily. “Not sure I want to know how you know what mud tastes like,” he joked. “But Fenris complained about the coffee when he was here, so thought you might need the caffeine.”

As Cullen took a long, slow sip of coffee, Dorian studied him. Although it had only been a week, it was if a different man sat before him. Although he was dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, he’d combed his hair perfectly into place, and his face was recently shaven. He seemed a little tired, perhaps, and – his clothes notwithstanding – looked much like the old Cullen that Dorian had met and come to know.

“So,” Dorian said. “How are you?”

Cullen shrugged. “Things were a bit rough at first,” he said. “But now that the drugs are out of my system, I feel better.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Dorian said quietly.

Cullen’s honey-brown eyes lingered on Dorian for a moment. Then he took another slow sip of coffee, glancing between them. “So how’s everyone?”

“Same pains in the ass as always,” Hawke said. “Anders and Zevran wanted to come, but the rehab said you could only have two visitors at a time. But they might come tomorrow.”

Cullen’s long fingers absentmindedly turned the paper cup in a circle on the tabletop. “They have a lot of rules here. It’s sort of like boot camp, only with more art therapy.” He smiled thinly. “Actually, it does get rather dull here, so I’d appreciate the company.”

“I’ll make sure to pass along the message,” Hawke said.

“Art therapy?” Dorian asked, not knowing what else to say.

“It involves crayons,” Cullen said. “And feelings.”

As Hawke began to banter about the latest news, Dorian wondered just what _sort_ of feelings Cullen had. To be honest, he’d always wondered about Cullen’s feelings, particularly when it came to their relationship – such as it was. Had it just been sex? It was with some bitterness that Dorian recalled the last time before Cullen that he’d actually developed feelings for a man – feelings that, it turned out, weren’t reciprocated.

Would his relationship with Fenris be any different, as Bethany had suggested?

How he hoped so.

As Cullen set his empty coffee cup down upon the table, his expression grew serious. “If it isn’t too much trouble,” he said, “I would ask that you thank Fenris for me.”

“I will,” Hawke says. “Unless Dorian sees him first.”

Both pairs of eyes came to rest on Dorian. Hawke’s knowing. Cullen’s curious. “I’ll make a note to tell him.”

Cullen nodded slowly. “If you don’t mind,” he told Hawke, “I would like to speak to Dorian in private before you go.”

“Of course,” Hawke said. “I’ll wait outside. Take care of yourself, Cullen.”

The men shook hands, and then Hawke slipped out, leaving the two men alone.

_Nothing awkward about this at all,_ Dorian thought as he and Cullen just looked at each other in silence for a moment. “So...” Dorian finally said. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Dorian didn’t know what to expect. Yet he was still surprised by Cullen’s words. “I’m sorry, Dorian.”

Dorian blinked. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

With a sigh, Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I think you know what for. But I will say it out loud if that’s what you wish.” When Dorian didn’t respond, Cullen continued. “I told you before that you didn’t want me. Now you know why I had to keep my distance.”

Irked, Dorian snapped, “And you didn’t think I deserved to have a say? In what I wanted?”

Cullen looked away, staring off at nothing for a moment, before he sighed. Turning back to Dorian, he said, “You don’t want an addict. You deserve better than that.”

That gave Dorian pause. What Cullen said was true. Had he known the severity of Cullen’s drug problem, would he have even given the man the time of day? And, deep down, it may have only been a sense of self-preservation, or it could have been his vanity, but Dorian knew that he did deserve better than that. “You could have told me,” he said, his tone half-petulant, half-accusatory.

“And risk ruining our friendship?” Cullen asked. “That’s the last thing I wanted.” He barked a soft, bitter laugh. “Maker knows what you must think of me now.”

Suddenly, confronted by Cullen’s raw, open vulnerability, all of Dorian’s anger and frustration melted away. It was only in that moment that he realized what should have been glaringly obvious: that Cullen’s distance had absolutely nothing to do with Dorian, and everything to do with Cullen’s own demons. For that reason, Dorian was suddenly filled with compassion for the man before him who so desperately needed a friend.

Friendship – that much he could still offer.

Tentative, Dorian reached across the table and placed a hand on top of Cullen’s. When Cullen’s eyes shot up to meet his, Dorian offered his warmest smile.

“I think you’re very brave,” he said.

\-----------------------------------

One of Dorian’s favorite things about the cinema was that moment when the hush fell over the crowd as the lights began to dim, right before the movie began. Back in Tevinter, going to the movies had been one of his preferred ways to waste time. Strange how he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed sitting in the well-worn velvet seats of an old theater and eating popcorn as the opening credits rolled over the screen. It was a magical moment – anything could happen.

Even better? Watching the movie with Fenris beside him.

Although they spoke on the phone – or at least texted – every day, due to their work schedules, it had been a few weeks since their last official date. So when Fenris had contacted him earlier that afternoon with the invitation to see the latest critically acclaimed film from Nevarra, Dorian had jumped at the chance.

Fenris, Dorian was pleased to note, watched movies in the same way he did everything – with a quiet intensity. He didn’t make comments, pose questions, or chat like some other people did. Instead, his pretty face was angled towards the screen, lips taut in concentration, his eyes – more darkly gray than green in the flickering light – intently focused on the screen.

Dorian didn’t dare disturb him. Except that about halfway through the film, Dorian casually reached across Fenris’ thigh to cover Fenris’ hand with his own. Not only was this allowed, but Fenris just as casually turned his hand over so that they were now palm to palm, fingers entwined.

Not speaking, they held hands for the rest of the movie.

Once the lights went up, they blinked and smiled at each other. They only broke contact to gather up their jackets, already discussing the nuances of the film as they exited the theater into the night. Despite the cool air, Dorian’s hand was still warm and strangely tingly from where Fernis’ had pressed against his.

Arriving at Fenris’ car, they paused, lingering. “So...” Fenris said. “Would you like to go have a drink?”

Dorian considered that. They had dined before the movie, but had made no other plans. Even so, it wasn’t that late. Too early for the date to end, and the last thing Dorian wanted. “I have a wonderful bottle of Burgundy from Antiva,” he suggested. “If you’d like, you could come over to my place and we could share it.”

Much to Dorian’s surprise, Fenris didn’t say no. Instead, with a smile, he said, “I’d be delighted.”

Twenty minutes later, they were in Dorian’s apartment. Dorian may not have owned a fancy sofa, but he did possess two mismatched, but relatively comfortable chairs that served the purpose of entertaining one guest. From the red chair, Fenris studied the apartment as Dorian busied himself with the task of opening and pouring the wine. Having passed a glass to Fenris, Dorian set the bottle down upon the bench that served as a coffee table, and settled himself into the yellow chair.

“This is a particularly good vintage,” Fenris said with a hint of surprise after his first taste.

Dorian twisted his glass, admiring the quality of the liquid inside as it caught the light. “Wine, spices, and leather _are_ the major exports from Antiva,” he said, then grinned. “And particularly talented lovers, if you believe Zevran.”

“I don’t,” Fenris said.

“Probably a wise decision.”

Silence fell as each man sipped and savored his wine. More than the wine, however, Dorian enjoyed the vision of Fenris before him. Although fully dressed, there was something both so elegant and yet so sexy about the man sitting across from him, with his luscious green eyes, snow-white hair, dark shirt a contrast against the tawny tattooed skin, and lips that looked glossy and supple with wine.

_He’s such a beautiful man, it ought to be a crime,_ Dorian thought.

“Hawke mentioned that you saw Cullen,” Fenris remarked after a moment. “How is he?”

Dorian paused to consider. “As well as to be expected, I suppose,” he replied. “And, as far as I can tell, he is determined to stay off the drugs. Hopefully he’ll have the strength.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “Speaking from experience, it won’t be easy. But Cullen is not weak.”

“No, ‘weak’ is not a word I’d ever associate with that man.”

Fenris paused. Held his glass a little tight, a little long, before taking another sip. Squeezing it in both hands now. “You know, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said. “But I wasn’t sure how.”

At Fenris’ serious tone, Dorian’s heart did a little anticipatory flutter. Still, he managed to keep his voice and his expression neutral. “Sometimes the best way to ask a question is to just ask it.”

Fenris nodded again, though more to himself this time. “You have... a point,” he said. Leaning forward in his chair, he met Dorian’s eyes fixedly. “My question is about you and Cullen. Whatever was between you – is it over?”

This time, Dorian’s heart skittered. He couldn’t be sure – was that jealousy in Fenris’ tone? Or was it something more accusatory? Dorian’s first instinct was to deny it vehemently: _There’s nothing between us. Are you joking? You’re the only man for me._ Except... that wasn’t entirely true. Romantic, perhaps, but not accurate. And to deny it with such fervor would only seem suspicious.

It only took Dorian a few seconds to realize what he wanted to say.

“Yes,” Dorian said quite simply. “It’s over.”

Once again, Fenris nodded. This time, however, as if any suspicions he may have harbored had been lain to rest. “I believe you,” he said, as he set his wine glass down on the table. Dorian watched with curiosity as Fenris lifted off from his chair, his eyes possessive and predatory, then closed the space between them with two short strides. Then his curiosity became wonder as Fenris plucked the glass out of Dorian’s hand and set that one aside as well before climbing over Dorian, straddling his lap.

All of a sudden, Dorian’s arms were full of twink. Hands sliding around his shoulders and folding about his neck. Soft, white hair brushed against the side of his face, then Fenris’ lips brushed over his.

Kissing Fenris was no less marvelous than the last time. Warm lips. Coy tease of tongue. The enticing pressure of Fenris’ weight in his lap, fingers twirling through his hair. It was electrifying – all hot flashing tingles of pleasure and anticipation coursing through Dorian’s body as Fenris kissed him and kissed him.

By the time Fenris drew back, they were both breathless. Dorian was entirely aware of the heat emanating from Fenris’ body above his, and the slightly uncomfortable way that his erection was not-so-subtly poking Fenris in the thigh. Fenris’ gaze met his – slicing right through him like a razor, yet soft and warm as sun-soaked cotton.

Dorian cleared his throat. He almost hated himself for asking, but he didn’t want to rudely presume anything with Fenris – though he was already half-convinced that the answer wouldn’t be what he desperately wished. “Do you want to stop here?” he asked.

Fenris’ voice was all husky breath. “No.”

A jolt of fire shot through Dorian’s body, straight down to his groin, where it pooled. Against Fenris, he felt himself grow even harder. It took all his will to make his suggestion calmly and not just toss Fenris down to ravish him here on the living room floor.

_Another time,_ he promised himself after allowing himself to enjoy that fantasy for a brief moment.

He let one hand slip down Fenris’ spine. “We might be more comfortable in the bedroom.”

To his utter joy, Fenris agreed.

Having slid off Dorian’s lap, Fenris let Dorian take his hand. Leading him to the bedroom, Dorian walked backward, unwilling to let the connection of their gazes unlock. A few steps brought them to the doorway. A few more brought them to Dorian’s twin bed – which he’d had since moving to Kirkwall and only now vaguely regretted not replacing it as it wasn’t really big enough for two.

However, Fernis gave the bed no more than a cursory glance before his hands reached up, slowly opening Dorian’s shirt one button at a time. Once done, Fenris casually slid the shirt off Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian shivered as Fenris’ fingers brushed lightly over his bare skin.

Then they were kissing again. This time, Fenris’ hands wandered down Dorian’s bare back, up his sides and down his chest as they kissed. There was nothing hurried or frantic about it, and yet the anticipation kept building until Dorian thought he would burst. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard just from kissing.

Dorian’s hands stroked down Fenris’ back, the fabric of his shirt smooth and silky and warm from his body. Then slipped down to circle Fenris’ hips, tugging him closer. Through his pants, he could feel Fenris’ arousal. As Fenris teasingly ground their hips together, Dorian let out an involuntary moan into Fenris’ mouth.

_Kaffas, he feels so good,_ was all Dorian could think. He wanted more – more mouth, more touch, more skin. With both hands he reached for the hem of Fenris’ shirt, slowly lifting it up, breaking off their kiss only at the last moment when he pulled the shirt over Fenris’ head.

Fenris kicked off his shoes. Dorian quickly followed suit. He’d barely had a chance to toe off the second loafer when Fenris seized him, pushing him gently but insistently backwards down to the bed.

Dorian gasped as Fenris’ hand fell almost naturally to the front of his pants, now determinedly stroking Dorian through the thin fabric. Hungry lips met his again, and then he reached down, blindly groping, until he stumbled upon Fenris’ manhood. Matching Fenris’ pace, he stroked his lover in turn.

The choked noise that Fenris made in his throat was pure music.

Dorian was now at his breaking point. He had to have this man. The question he posed was less to be polite than to get things moving along in their inevitable trajectory. “Do you want to have sex?”

“Not... tonight,” Fenris murmured.

Dorian was shocked speechless. He didn’t know what his face was doing, but something about his expression caused Fenris to chuckle.

“I mean,” he amended, “that I’d rather just do oral.”

_Oral? Still sex._ Relief washed through Dorian. He grinned. “I think I’d be fine with that.”

Fenris returned the smile, in the most playful manner Dorian had ever seen. “In that case... take off your pants.”

Dorian rushed to comply, trembling hands fumbling with his belt. As he removed his pants, Fenris started to do the same. Yet, as much as he’d just been dying to fuck Fenris just a moment ago, stopping what they’d been doing in order to finish undressing was enough to cool Dorian’s ardor just enough that he could see beyond his own demanding need, and was able to form coherent thoughts again.

He glanced up in time to see Fenris stepping out of his underwear. Naked now, with his beautiful cock bobbing, and the uniquely fascinating white tattoos like ivy that unfurled across his velvety light brown skin, the sight caused Dorian to suck in his breath.

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” Dorian exclaimed. “You’re beautiful.”

All of a sudden, a flush appeared in Fenris’ cheeks as he coughed awkwardly into his fist. “Ahh... thank you,” he said quietly.

In that moment, his passion having slightly waned, Dorian was suddenly struck by an epiphany: that giving Fenris pleasure was tantamount to receiving his own pleasure. Not that he would have minded being on the receiving end of Fenris’ offer first, but he wasn’t adverse to waiting. Especially since it meant he would have his chance to play with Fenris’ beautiful cock to his heart’s content.

Reaching for Fenris, Dorian pulled him back down to the bed.

Eager, Dorian planted one more perfunctory kiss on Fenris’ lips before licking and kissing his way down to Fenris’ thighs. Still he let his lips linger, tracing the cords of Fenris’ long neck, following the slight curve of his pecs, capturing nipple between his teeth – first one, then the other – eliciting delighted gasps. Then with hands and mouth Dorian continued down over ribs, swirl in and around navel, then down the light treasure trail to the prize.

Fenris squirmed impatiently as Dorian paused, exhaling hot, moist breath purposefully over the head of Fenris’ cock. Then was rewarded by a small noise of pleasure as he teased Fenris by flicking his tongue lightly over the tip.

_So hard,_ Dorian marveled as he took more and more of Fenris’ cock into his mouth, alternating between light sucking and swirling his tongue. He couldn’t remember ever having enjoyed giving a blow job as much as he liked doing it to Fenris.

Dorian hummed with pleasure. As a result, Fenris made another choked noise as the vibrations coursed through his cock. Muttering incoherently, he then wound his fingers into Dorian’s hair. Holding Dorian’s head steady, Fenris began to lightly push into his mouth, forcing himself slightly deeper with every thrust. All the while, Fenris made soft sounds with quickening breath – proof of how much enjoyment he was receiving from Dorian’s mouth.

Dorian felt a little thrill course through him as Fenris plunged in and out, in and out with an ever-quickening pace. Dorian, focused on the moment, loved every single minute of it. Soon Fenris’ breath became jagged, so Dorian knew he was close, and felt himself hardening in empathy as Fenris hardened and throbbed in his mouth.

Fenris gasped, loosening his grip on Dorian’s hair. “Dorian... I’m going to... come...”

Ignoring the warning, Dorian sucked. Hard.

Almost gleefully Dorian swallowed every drop, relishing how fucking arousing it was to feel Fenris spasm hard and uncontrollably against his tongue, and the breathless, almost-pained sounds he made as he came. Determined to milk every last drop, Dorian continued to suck until Fenris finally grabbed him with both hands to pry him off.

“Dorian... enough...”

Dorian shifted so that he was sitting next to Fenris. This way, he was better able to view Fenris’ post-sex face, which was a glorious hazy thing, all slack mouth and dilated pupils.

“Was that all right?” Dorian asked.

Still breathless, Fenris gazed up at him through heavy lids. “It was good... just... give me a minute.”

His grin uncontrollable, Dorian looked down at Fenris as he let his fingers lazily trail up Fenris’ hard, taut thigh. “Please. Take all the minutes you need.”

After a few moments, Fenris’ breathing had slowed to a normal rate. Brushing the hair out of his eyes with one hand, he let the other drop down between Dorian’s legs to give him a gentle, teasing squeeze. His smile, too, was gently teasing.

“Your turn.”

Maker, just the feel of Fenris’ fingers ghosting up and down over his cock felt amazing. More so when Fenris leaned up to press his mouth to Dorian’s again, kissing him softly at first, then with more fervor. By the time Fenris pulled back, Dorian’s head was spinning, and his member practically dancing in Fenris’ fist.

With a coy smile, Fenris – _regrettably!_ in Dorian’s opinion – drew back his hand. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

Dorian didn’t need to be asked twice. In a instant, he was already scooching over to comply with Fenris’ command. He was unable to swallow his grin as Fenris moved to get down on his knees on the floor, poised between Dorian’s open legs. Without wasting time, Fenris settled back on his haunches and leaned forward to deliciously tongue Dorian’s shaft.

His tongue felt extraordinary – hot and teasing as it languidly slid down and up, pressing into the slit at the top before circling around the sensitive ridge. As Dorian had done, Fenris spent some time alternating between the licking and sucking his way partially down and back up Dorian’s now very wet cock.

_Kaffas, he’s amazing,_ Dorian marveled as he leaned back on his hands, gazing down to enjoy the view of Fenris’ tongue working its magic over him.

Green eyes, which had been closed, now opened to look up at Dorian. Dorian made an effort not to protest as Fenris’ tongue darted back into his mouth. “Dorian,” Fenris murmured. “I want you to stay still. Don’t thrust.”

That was slightly perplexing. Also somewhat unfair, given how enthusiastically Fenris had been fucking Dorian’s face just a few minutes ago. Still, Dorian assumed that Fenris had a good reason for it, and he had no complaints about Fenris’ attentions so far. “All right.”

Seemingly satisfied, Fenris placed both hands on Dorian’s thighs before he leaned forward again. This time he took Dorian partway into his mouth. Once Dorian’s cock was halfway in, Fenris paused. Curious Dorian waited, and enjoyed the subtle feel of Fenris breathing steadily and deeply around him.

Then Fenris moved his head, taking Dorian in by another inch. Then another. And another. Soon Dorian felt the press of Fenris’ nose against his belly, and his chin against Dorian’s balls, as Fenris took all of Dorian into his mouth.

_Maker, this man..._ was Dorian’s only coherent thought, because it was at that moment that Fenris began to slide up and all the way back down Dorian’s cock, breathing and rhythm steady.

As Fenris deep throated him, Dorian moaned. Wantonly. Eyes glued to Fenris’ mouth, Dorian reveled in the sight of the beautiful man as he continued to bob over and over, all the way up and down Dorian’s now aching cock.

_So fucking good..._ Maker, he was so close already. Unable to stop himself, Dorian began to come just as Fenris’ lips glided down to the base again. Making almost inhuman sounds, Dorian clutched at the sheets as he tried to hiss a mostly incomprehensible warning of his own impending orgasm.

Just in time, Fenris’ lips popped free. With a quick motion, he seized Dorian’s pulsating member in his hand, pumping it with rapid strokes. Awash with pleasure, Dorian’s body stiffened and his limbs twitched as Fenris milked the last of his spend.

Head spinning from the force of his powerful orgasm, Dorian forgot to breathe for a moment. Eventually he remembered to take a breath. Finally he managed to open his eyes. Fenris still knelt between his legs. And he’d managed to make a mess of himself.

Fenris followed Dorian’s gaze. “Bathroom?”

Dorian gestured. “There.”

Fenris stood up and left the room. A moment later he returned, passing Dorian a towel as he sat down on the bed beside him.

“Sorry,” Fenris said, though he sounded anything but sorry, as Dorian wiped himself clean, “I don’t like to swallow.”

Finished with the towel, Dorian tossed it aside. “That’s all right,” he said mildly. “I don’t know how you can deep throat.”

Looking a little pleased with himself, Fenris shrugged. “It just takes practice. And getting the right angle helps.”

Dorian regarded him for a moment, then leaned over to kiss him.

Soft, lingering, sweet.

Fenris smiled as they parted. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I should go.”

_No, stay!_ Dorian wanted to shout. Instead, he managed to refrain. “You’re more than welcome to spend the night.”

By Fenris’ dubious glance at the twin bed, Dorian knew what his answer would be. Already he felt a twinge of disappointment like a needle stick to the heart. He shouldn’t have known. He shouldn’t have asked. Had he sounded desperate, after all? What must Fenris think of him now? That he was needy, pathetic sack of a man?

But then that cold prickle of disappointment was replaced by a warm glow as Fenris smiled and spoke again.

“My place next time,” he said.

 


	19. Don't Forget to Feed Your Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A text from Fenris interrupts Dorian's poker night.

Dorian had three queens.

_Sort of like real life,_ Dorian mused, as he glanced up at Hawke, Anders, and Zevran sitting at the card table with him. They were in Anders’ loft, with nearly a dozen empty beer bottles scattered about, vapor from Hawke’s new e-cigarette curling up from his lips as he sneered at his own cards. Dorian found he didn’t mind the scent of Hawke’s vaping. It smelled faintly sweet, reminding him of caramel-coated apples – special treats from every good Tevinter boy’s childhood.

Anders raised. Zevran stared intently at his cards for a moment as if he could will them to change into something good, then folded. Dorian saw Anders’ raise.

“Fuck it,” Hawke said, throwing his chips into the pot. “Call.”

Dorian flipped his three queens down upon the table. Hawke followed suit. “Fuck me,” he muttered, his bluff destroyed. “I got jackshit. King high.”

An echo of Felix’s last words to him reverberated through Dorian’s mind. _Good night, you prince of Thedas, you king of Tevinter._ They’d talked on the phone for an hour last night. Well... Dorian had done most of the talking, and mostly about Fenris. Felix had laughed at him, but had humored him anyway. Dorian missed him. He’d started wondering if perhaps it was time he went back to Tevinter – not to live there again, but to visit – and he’d even wondered if Fenris would accompany him.

Now, however, given Hawke’s lack of a playable hand, Dorian was certain he’d won this round of poker. He’d even started reaching out to collect his winnings, but then Anders revealed his own hand.

“Read ‘em and weep,” Anders said with a grin. “Straight beats three of a kind.”

The men all groaned as Anders scooped up the chips and then added them them to his already precariously tall piles.

“I swear this guys’s a magician,” Hawke grumbled. “He’s got cards up his sleeves.”

Anders chuckled. “My shirt doesn’t even have any sleeves,” he pointed out. “Besides – you like me, anyway.”

Hawke’s eyes lit up. “I’ll like you better if you promise to buy me dinner at the Blooming Rose with Dorian and Zevran’s money.”

“The Blooming Rose?” Dorian asked, unfamiliar with the name.

Zevran gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them back into the deck. “A high-class restaurant in Hightown,” he said. “Rumor has it that it used to be a brothel, back in the day.” As he dealt out the next round, he smiled. “I would not be too hasty with my promises, if I were you, Anders,” he said to the strawberry blond. “I assure you that I have no intention of losing any more of my money to you.”

Anders chuckled again. “Then stop making it so easy.”

Hawke barked a laugh. “Zevran? Easy? Why, I’m sure no one has ever put those two words together before.”

Dorian studied his cards. He had two jacks – a promising start. Discarding the other three, he glanced up at Hawke. “Wasn’t Carver supposed to join us this evening?”

“Oh, he was,” Hawke said. “But he got a special request at that last minute. From the Bull.”

Dorian startled. “From... the Bull...?” he stuttered. “Then... the Bull asked for Carver specifically?”

“Yeah. That’s what he texted me,” Hawke said. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

“What?” Dorian said, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, no. Of course not.”

With a little cat-like grin, Zevran ran his hand through his silky hair, flipping it back with a flourish. “I think someone is a little – shall we say? – jealous.”

Dorian’s mouth popped open. Of course he wasn’t _jealous_ – why would he be? Just because the Bull was obviously smitten with Dorian, that didn’t make their relationship – their _professional_ relationship – exclusive. The man was a paying client, and free to film or fuck anyone he wanted. So of course Dorian wasn’t jealous.

Except... reflecting upon it a little more carefully, Dorian realized that Bull choosing Carver over him had nothing to do with ego, and everything to do with Fenris. Other than their recent mutual exchange of oral pleasure, it had been a long time since they’d actually had full penetrative sex. Performing for Bull – although less intimate – would at least have given Dorian the opportunity to have hot sex with Fenris again.

Reflecting on the matter a bit deeper, Dorian suddenly had a thought. A terrible thought. “Did Carver go with Fenris?”

Hawke paused, looking thoughtful. Dorian held his breath, otherwise he might scream. As it was, it took all of Dorian’s willpower to not leap out of his chair and over the table, grab onto Hawke’s shoulders, and rattle an answer out of the man.

“Oh, right,” Hawke finally said. “He did mention that he wasn’t going alone. He went with Alistair.”

Dorian breathed a loud sigh of relief.

The three men stared at him. Then Anders and Hawke exchanged a knowing glance. Zevran caught their glance, then, as understanding dawned, he laughed.

_“Braska!”_ Zevran said, still laughing, as he pointed at Dorian. “You, my friend, are in love with Fenris, are you not?”

Dorian considered denying it, but there didn’t seem to be any point. “I’ve never been in love before, but... I believe that I am.”

Zevran’s smile became dreamy. “Ah, love,” he murmured. “How wonderful that it comes in places so unexpected.”

Hawke and Anders exchanged another knowing glance.

Now that his secret was out, there was no point in being coy. Being in love was new to him. Being an amateur, he didn’t know what to do about it. “Should I... should I tell him?”

This time, glances were exchanged between all three. Finally, all eyes settled on Fenris’ only real friend – Hawke.

“Well, Fenris is...” Hawke began. Then he reached up to rub his chin. “Well, I always thought of him like a cat. Kind of... skittish.”

Dorian fretted. “So you’re suggesting I don’t tell him how I feel,” he said, more statement than question.

Zevran gave him a sympathetic look. “Fenris is far from what anyone would call the ‘romantic type’,” he said. “A heartfelt confession might not go over as well as it does in the movies.”

“I... yes. You may have a point.”

Anders’ look was even more sympathetic. “I don’t suppose you have any idea about how Fenris feels?” When Dorian shook his head, Anders turned to his lover. “Hawke?”

Hawke gave a lilting shrug. “He hasn’t said anything about feelings,” Hawke admitted. “But he was never one to talk about things like that. But, trust me, Dorian – you’ve gotten a lot closer to him than anyone else I know of. If he’s dating you – he likes you.”

Dorian considered that. Was it enough? He supposed it would have to be.

At that moment, Dorian’s phone blipped. A text.

From Fenris.

_R u at home? In LT. Can I come over?_

Dorian didn’t even hesitate. As delightful as poker night with the boys was, he had something far better at home. Quickly, he texted back his response.

_Yes._

\-----------------------------------

Dorian hurried through the streets of Darktown to reach home just in time. He’d barely had a chance to toss his jacket aside when the bell rang. He buzzed Fenris in the front door, then cast a quick glance about the apartment, which he decided was neat enough, and besides, he had no time to tidy up any further. He ran his hands over his head to smooth down his hair, then opened the door just as Fenris stepped up to knock.

A quick kiss in greeting, and then Fenris was in his arms, pushing him back into the living room as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Warm mouth on his, greedy kisses. Dorian felt like he was going to melt right into Fenris, and didn’t even care if he dissolved and disappeared forever.

Keeping his arms about Dorian’s neck, Fenris smiled as he drew back. “I was thinking about you all day.”

Dorian felt his heart flutter at those sweet words. “I’m glad to hear it,” he teased. “Someone should be thinking about me. But I’d hate to presume. What, exactly, were you thinking?”

Fenris chuckled in appreciation, a seductive, rumbling sound from deep in his throat. “I was thinking about being in your bed.”

Dorian’s heart, now inflamed, jump-kicked against his ribs like an angry mule. To be honest, he would have preferred being in Fenris’ bed, with the possibility of spending the entire night together, but with the way Fenris was now lightly stroking the back of his neck, he didn’t quite have the willpower to suggest a change of location. If Fenris wanted him _now,_ he wasn’t going to argue. “I take it you’re not in the mood for small talk.”

Fenris shifted, his body brushing up against Dorian’s, inflaming more than his heart. “I’d rather you ask me into the bedroom.”

No sooner than the request was made, Dorian granted it. Taking Fenris by both hands, he brought his lover to the bedroom. There, they exchanged a long sensuous kiss before Fenris took a step back. Briefly released, Dorian took the opportunity to light a few candles before snapping off the harsh overhead light and eagerly turning back to him.

“So...” Dorian said. “Did you have something in mind?”

A flicker of a smile slightly curled Fenris’ lips. “Take off my clothes.”

Dorian inhaled sharply. In his nostrils, the sweet, heady scent of sandalwood from the candles. Before him, Fenris waiting to be undressed by him. _The man knows what he wants._ Dorian needed no more encouragement. Stepping forward, he reached for the buttons on Fenris’ shirtfront, starting at the top and working his way slowly down. As he did so, he let his fingers slide purposefully over Fenris’ warm skin as he exposed it.

Fenris hummed with pleasure, leaning his head back, eyes closed as if to savor Dorian’s touch. Still working his way down the buttons, Dorian bent his head to press his lips against Fenris’ long, slender throat. Kissing his way down Fenris’ neck, Dorian gently slid the shirt off Fenris’ shoulders, then down his arms, letting it fall to the floor.

Still kissing Fenris’ neck, Dorian’s fingers worked the buckle of Fenris’ pants, then the zipper. Fenris steadied himself by placing both hands on Dorian’s shoulders as Dorian slowly slid the pants down Fenris’ hard and slender thighs, then had Fenris step out of them, one leg at a time, kicking his shoes off as he did so. Next, Dorian slowly peeled down Fenris’ underwear, pleased to be rewarded by Fenris’ hard cock as it bounced free from the fabric. Unable – rather, unwilling – to stop himself, Dorian pressed a soft kiss to Fenris’ cock before pushing his underwear the rest of the way down. Finally, he even removed Fenris’ socks with the same diligence as the rest of his clothing, tossing each one aside before standing back up.

Fenris was in his arms again. Lips met as their hands wandered leisurely over each other. Dorian found that he rather enjoyed having Fenris’ completely naked body pressed against his fully dressed one – there was something both immensely vulnerable and rather sexy about it. Through his shirt, he could feel Fenris’ hands, hot, and through his pants he could feel Fenris’ raging hard-on insistently pressing against his own.

How he wanted this gorgeous man. To have him or be had by him. It occurred to him that he didn’t know which position Fenris preferred, since they’d already done it both ways for Bull. Turning his head, Dorian breathed into Fenris’ ear, eliciting a shudder of delight. “Do you want me to top or bottom?”

Fenris made that hum of pleasure again. “You top.”

Dorian nearly quivered at the prospect. Though Fenris could have asked for the opposing role, and Dorian still would have reacted the same way. The only thing that could equal the pleasure of being inside Fenris would be to have Fenris inside of him. Briefly he wondered if it would be greedy to want both. After all, the night was still young...

Dorian let his palm slide down Fenris’ flank. Fenris cocked his hip, as if he couldn’t get enough of Dorian’s touch. “No kink?” Dorian teased.

“Mmm,” came Fenris’ guttural reply. “I wouldn’t mind if you had your way with me.”

Incendiary words, those. Dorian felt himself stiffen, hard as brick, just at the mere thought of it. “Then...” he began, having to swallow to get his voice to work, “... you wouldn’t mind if I get a little bit rough?”

Fenris weaseled a hand down between their hips, lightly stroking Dorian’s erection through his pants. “You do remember the safe word?”

Dorian sucked in his breath as Fenris’ hand tightened its grip, and he continued to stroke. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Hard to forget.”

“Good,” Fenris said. Withdrawing his hand, he smiled. “Take me.”

He was on fire – every nerve, every drop of blood. The rush of power he felt, now that Fenris had granted him permission to do whatever he wanted, was wickedly arousing. Almost unable to control himself, Dorian seized Fenris by the hips, plundering his mouth as he danced him the few steps towards his bed. Once at the bedside, Dorian whirled Fenris around, then gave him a gentle push so that he toppled, face first, down into the mattress.

In a flash, Dorian, still fully dressed, was on top of Fenris. Hands closed around Fenris’ wrists, then he tugged the other man’s arms up, effectively pinning him below. Shifting, he pressed his hips so that his erection nestled between Fenris’ buttocks, and enjoyed the wickedly erotic feel as the fabric of his pants rubbed against him.

Below him, Fenris made a little noise of encouragement. Pleased, Dorian shifted so that he was grinding against Fenris’ ass again. He had no intention of truly being rough with his lover – after all, Fenris’ pleasure was as important to him as his own, if not more. But if Fenris wanted to play the submissive, Dorian had no problem with the role of Alpha male.

Leaning down, Dorian left a trail of kisses down Fenris’ spine, starting at the base of his neck. By the time he reached the middle of Fenris’ back, in order to continue, he had to release Fenris’ wrists. With a little thrill he noted that Fenris didn’t move his arms, remaining immobile as though his wrists were still pinned in place.

Dorian kissed his way down the rest of Fenris’ back to the dimple at the base of his spine. Sliding down to kneel between Fenris’ open legs, Dorian used both hands to gently but firmly spread open Fenris’ ass. Bending down, he then placed a kiss on Fenris’ entrance before going to town with his tongue.

Below him, Fenris jerked, but he made another little noise of encouragement as Dorian began to circle his hole with his tongue. Around and around Dorian went, eliciting more noises. Then he alternated the rhythm by letting his tongue dart in, deeper and deeper.

Fenris groaned.

_Kaffas,_ the man was clean, delectably so. Dorian thought that he could tease Fenris all night like this, but the fire in his own belly was already demanding _more, more more._ Fortunately the lube was within easy reach on the bedside table. Dorian silently promised himself that the next time he had sex with Fenris, he would take it extra slow, but his need to be inside this man right now was more than he could bear. Especially when the noise Fenris made as Dorian slipped one lubed finger easily up inside him was positively wanton.

With annoyingly awkward fingers Dorian fumbled with his belt and tugged down his pants. Once he freed his member, he quickly snapped a condom on, then smeared on a generous amount of lube. Angling himself just so, he pushed about halfway in.

Overeager, he’d rushed a little bit. Moving slower now, he rocked back until his cock was almost all the way out, then pushed back in again. Each time he was able to penetrate a little deeper as Fenris’ body relaxed, opening up to accommodate him. Before long, Dorian had managed to work his way in to the hilt.

Testing the waters, he slowly slid out, then in again. Out, then in again. Beneath him, Fenris was now clutching the sheets, breathing hard, his profile hazy with pleasure, lips moving although no words came out. Dorian wasn’t a lip reader, but he almost heard the words on Fenris’ lips in his head.

_Fuck me._

Letting go of all restraint, Dorian began pounding Fenris into the mattress with rapid, hard thrusts. Both of them clinging to the sheets as they groaned and grunted like mindless animals.

It was the most phenomenal fucking Dorian had ever had. Maker, Fenris was so hot, so tight, and so unbelievably sexy as the willing receptacle for all of Dorian’s demanding need and passion. No matter how hard Dorian gave it to him, Fenris took it, as if he were born to take it. Fuck, he was going to come too soon. It was way too much, it felt way too good. But then a word which was half-breath slithered out from Fenris’ lips, causing Dorian to freeze immediately.

“Tevinter...”

In truth, the last thing that Dorian’s primal brain wanted to do was stop. His brain clouded with lust, it was a wonder that he had managed to do so. He became suddenly aware that his arms, which were supporting him, had begun to tremble with the effort. Still, uncertain, he didn’t know whether or not he should pull out and climb off Fenris immediately, so he waited for further orders.

Fenris’ one visible eye cracked open. “Dorian,” he murmured, somewhat breathless. “I... changed my mind. I would prefer to be on top.”

It took a moment for Fenris’ words to sink in. He didn’t want to stop, he wanted to be on top. The latter was far better than the former, so Dorian wasn’t going to argue.

He’d lost his momentum, but not his erection. Carefully he pulled out, then slid down so that he was lying on the bed beside Fenris. Meanwhile, Fenris was pushing himself up, and, then, a moment later, climbing up over Dorian so that he was straddling Dorian’s hips. Reaching down between his legs, Fenris took hold of Dorian’s cock in order to guide it back to his entrance. Once in position, Fenris sank down.

In this position, Fenris felt even tighter, and still so very hot. With pure delight, Dorian admired the view of Fenris kneeling over him, all taut thighs, his hard cock bobbing in time as he moved up and down, able to glimpse his own cock as it slid in and out of Fenris’ well-oiled hole. In particular he enjoyed the soft hazy look of Fenris’ sex face, soft sounds of pleasure huffing out from his parted lips. Dorian couldn’t quite decide which was better: his pounding Fenris into the mattress, or Fenris vigorously riding him like a sex-crazed demon.

As Fenris continued to bounce and rock over him, Dorian reached out a hand. Wrapping his fingers around Fenris’ cock, he let Fenris thrust into his fist in time.

Moving faster and more frenetically, Fenris muttered a curse in Tevene, and Dorian knew that he was close. Dorian was also on the verge of his own impending orgasm. Dorian desperately clung to random thoughts, hoping to achieve the difficult feat of coming together. Then Fenris’ cock throbbed in Dorian’s hand, he moaned, plunging down once more before bucking back up, sending Dorian over the edge.

Dorian came hard. Swept up and away by pleasure. Mind obliterated. But not so far gone that he was unaware of the two little words in Tevene that flew out past his lips, just as the orgasm hit.

_Te amo..._

For a moment, they remained still in the aftermath, breaths mingling, at first rapid, then slow. Below Dorian’s lazy touch, Fenris was slick with sweat. Then, finally, Fenris found the strength to move, extricating himself from Dorian’s embrace.

“I’ll bring you a towel,” he murmured as he staggered out of the bedroom.

Dorian heaved a sigh. Took the opportunity to peel off the condom, tying it off before he tucked it down near the side of the bed, intending to throw it away later. Then he tucked himself back into his pants. He’d just gingerly sat up when Fenris returned, passing him a towel, which he used to wipe off Fenris’ spend, some of which had hit his shirt, and the part of his belly that had been exposed during their lovemaking.

Fenris eased himself down beside Dorian at the edge of the bed, his expression inscrutable. “That thing you said...” he began, his brows knitting, causing lines to appear between them.

Dorian did his best to hide the sudden apprehension he felt. Especially with the strange way that Fenris was now regarding him. “Yes?”

Fenris paused as if mulling over his next words. “Did you mean it? Or was it just heat of the moment?”

Fenris was offering him an out, if he wanted to take it. He knew that. If it hadn’t been such an emotionally and sexually charged moment, Dorian knew that he wouldn’t have had the audacity to say those words. But that didn’t make them any less true. And the last thing he wanted to do was to lie to Fenris about his feelings.

Dorian met Fenris’ gaze with a boldness he did not feel, and said simply, “I meant it.”

Suddenly Fenris’ gaze was anywhere and everywhere except on Dorian. “I see,” he said to the floor. At his sides, his fingers twitched. Then he leaned over to scoop up his underwear, tugging them up to his knees before he stood up to pull them the rest of the way.

“Fenris...?”

Fenris didn’t respond right away. Instead, he grabbed his pants, pulling them on quickly before reaching for his other clothes. “I should go.”

The cold hard edge of panic pressed itself against Dorian’s throat like a blade of ice, as his heart began to tumble like an acrobat. They’d been having such a wonderful time a mere few minutes ago, and now, watching Fenris hurriedly dress so he could make his escape, the moment felt awful and weird. Uncertain of what to say, Dorian said nothing. Not until Fenris, fully dressed, made his way to the bedroom door.

He was slipping away. Desperate to keep him, Dorian called out. “Fenris...?”

At the door, Fenris stopped. He lingered for a moment. He turned his head, but his eyes didn’t rise past the level of Dorian’s chin. “I’ll call you,” he said, but to Dorian, it sounded hollow. Like a lie.

Then Fenris was gone.

Dorian stared at the empty doorway, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Except it was simple, really.

_I just fucked up._

\-----------------------------------

He wasn’t sure how, exactly, he had ended up here, with his head in Bull’s toilet, puking his guts out. His mind, strangely blank, groped about blindly for a reason, even as Bull held his figurative hair.

“There, there,” Bull rumbled in what Dorian assumed was supposed to be a soothing voice. “Just get it all out of your system.”

In response, Dorian hurled again, clinging to the porcelain bowl – and knowing Bull’s tastes, it was most certainly made of actual porcelain – like a lifeline.

He felt the weight of Bull’s large hand patting him gently on the back. “Serves you right, though, for drinking that swill at the Hanged Man.”

_Swill at the Hanged Man? Oh, right..._

 

_Two hours earlier..._

“I’m sure of it now,” Dorian slurred. “Three days and he hasn’t returned a single one of my texts.”

“You’ve said that already,” Carver pointed out, not kindly.

“Not helping, brother,” Hawke reprimanded him. “We’re here to be supportive, remember?”

Carver leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a grunt.

Dorian slammed his glass down. Swill splashed out over the sides of his glass, slicking both the table and his fingers, but he was too drunk already to even notice. “All of you were right,” he went on. “I should have listened to you. The ladies thought I should tell him, but as soon as I said the ‘L’ word? Pfft. Off he ran.”

He’d been warned, certainly. _By Cullen, perhaps?_ That as soon as anyone started expressing feelings around Fenris, he would cut them off. Game over. Which is precisely what had just transpired three days ago, apparently. It was his own fault for ignoring that warning. He’d known better. Maudlin, he stared down into his glass.

“Maybe he just needs some time,” Hawke said, although he didn’t seem very convincing, even to Dorian in his drunken state. “You know... to process.”

Dorian ran a hand through his hair. He’d thought it needed smoothing down, but he only managed to muss it up. _Where’s a mirror when you need one?_ Heaving a sigh, he let his hand fall back down to the glass. _Kaffas, why is it all wet?_

“I’m utterly heartbroken, you know,” Dorian slurred. “Broken heart. Never really had one of those before, except this one time... but it didn’t feel like this.”

Carver and Hawke exchanged a glance. “You know,” Carver said, his tone pragmatic. “These things always seem worse when you’re drunk. Maybe you should go home. Sleep it off. Things will look better in the morning.”

_Perhaps he’s right,_ Dorian thought. But, in the past three days, his nights had felt so dreadfully empty. Mornings, too. There wasn’t an hour of the day where he wasn’t missing Fenris, and berating himself for fucking everything up.

_I need another drink,_ Dorian thought. _Drown my sorrows._ Except that his so-called friends decided that he’d had enough. How many had he had? Not that many, surely. Still, he didn’t have the strength to resist as the Hawkes quickly paid the tab and ushered him out to the sidewalk, where they encouraged him to head straight home, go to bed, and not think about Fenris.

For a moment, Dorian teetered at the edge of the street, having every intention of doing what his friends had told him. He even started walking back towards his apartment. But then the persistent thoughts returned.

_He won’t speak to me again. I fucked it up. Just like with Krem – he still isn’t answering my texts, either. Vishante kaffas! No matter how hard I try, all I do is fuck everything up._

Even more maudlin than before, Dorian kicked petulantly at a pebble in the gutter. Of course he was in the gutter – after all, he was trash. Worthless goods than no one wanted. Used, and then tossed aside. Story of his life.

Except that Dorian didn’t enjoy feeling sorry for himself. He never had. He’d never been one to waste time moping around. He’d always preferred to do something to make things right.

Then he had an epiphany. An idea that – to his drunken mind – was brilliant.

Instead of heading home, he wandered until he found a cab. Once in the backseat, he gave the driver the address in Hightown.

Twenty minutes later he was standing on Bull’s doorstep. After what felt like an eternity, Bull opened the door, then looked down at Dorian with _What the fuck? w_ ritten all over his face. Still, he opened the door wider and gestured to Dorian. “Come on in, ‘Vint.”

“Thank you,” Dorian slurred. “Most kind.”

Bull cocked a curious eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, he led Dorian not to the usual sofa in the living room, but to a small table tucked into a nook in the kitchen. As Dorian sat down, Bull set about preparing a pot of coffee.

A few minutes later, Bull sat down a steaming and fragrant cup before Dorian, along with a spoon and matching set of creamer and sugar bowl in silver. Dorian managed to fix his coffee the way he liked it without spilling too much of everything.

Bull leaned back, resting his hands upon the counter, as he studied Dorian for a long moment. Finally he spoke again. “Okay. I assume you had a reason for coming here, so... out with it.”

Dorian took a sip of coffee, barely acknowledging its rich flavor. “That guy... the kid at the bar... about him... you see, I had to come... yes?”

The _What the fuck?_ expression had returned to Bull’s face. Still, he spoke quietly and patiently. “’Vint. Try making sense.”

“I mean the transman who... whom?... who you so valiantly saved.”

The crease between Bull’s brows disappeared as Bull’s face relaxed. “Oh, right,” he said. “What about him?”

Dorian wondered briefly how to put it. Then, still uncertain, he plowed ahead. “I fucked up, you see,” Dorian babbled. “And now he won’t even return my texts. I didn’t know what to do, but maybe this will make it right.”

The crease returned as Bull stared at him. “’Vint, you’re making about as much sense as my grandmother. And she has dementia.”

Could he not be any clearer? _Kaffas_ , was the man truly that dense? “Yes, well...” Dorian said. “He has your photo on the wall of his gym, you see. And when he looks at it, he – ”

Dorian’s stomach suddenly lurched, cutting off what he’d been about to say.

“’Vint, you okay?” Bull’s voice came from a mile away. “You’re lookin’ a little green ‘round the gills.”

“Ugh,” Dorian managed to sputter. “I think I may be sick.”

Which is how he ended up retching into Bull’s toilet half the night.

He was completely drained and only half aware of Bull tucking him into the bed in the guestroom.

His last thought before passing out was: _Fuck my life._

\---------------------------

By the light of the small lamp by the bedside, Bull looked down at Dorian, already snoring lightly. Even after an hour of puking, the man somehow still managed to look delicious enough to eat, with his cheeks slightly flushed, lips parted, and dark hair all mussed across the white pillow. Like he’d just been properly fucked into oblivion.

_Had worse evenings,_ he mused. No escorts ever came to his place unless he was paying them, so this was a first. In fact, he was both vaguely annoyed and somewhat curious about the reason behind Dorian’s surprise visit. Something about the trans kid Bull had saved. He didn’t remember telling Dorian the story of how he’d lost his eye, but he told everyone that story, so there wasn’t anything unusual about Dorian knowing it.

Bull had peeled Dorian out of his shoes and jacket before tucking him into bed. Curious, he now reached for the jacket, and began rummaging through the pockets. A quick search turned up a set of keys, a wallet, and a cell phone. Without any sense of guilt in regard to invading Dorian’s privacy, Bull riffled through the wallet briefly before returned it along with the keys to Dorian’s pocket.

Which left the phone. Still vaguely curious, Bull powered on the device.

There was no password.

For a moment only, Bull’s thumb hovered over the text messaging icon.

 


	20. Or It'll Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian confronts Fenris about his feelings.

Male sweat thick in the air. The faintly chlorinated scent of clean towels. The clack and clank of the machines, mixed with the sounds of male exertion – grunts and softly-uttered curses. Light banter and laughter, deep voices. Sounds that were familiar to Cremisius Aclassi by now. He found being surrounded by men comforting.

Not that he would have minded having some women around. But his clientele was mostly male, in part because there was a gym only five blocks away that was geared specifically towards women, one that was more upscale and sported a sauna and a juice bar. Not that he had anything against smoothies – or saunas, for that matter – but it all seemed a bit too frou-frou to him.

Still, today was a busy day. While he checked his social media, he kept an eye on things from his perch at the counter, his usual spot since he’d fired Dorian. In hindsight, he’d let his feelings take over, and the decision had been entirely emotional.

He didn’t like thinking about Dorian. Every time Dorian sent him a text, Krem felt a little pang of hurt.

As Krem continued to scroll past pictures of cakes and kittens, the bell above the door to the gym jingled. “Yeah, can I –” he began, but when he looked up at the man who had just entered, the words died in his throat.

Krem’s idol and hero. _The Iron fucking Bull._

The door swung shut. Bull’s eye scanned the room before settling on Krem. With a slow, confident sort of swagger, he approached the counter, then leaned upon it. Years had passed, and Krem had forgotten just how massive the man was – tall, broad and bulging with muscles. But his voice was the same deep rumble like a train in a tunnel that Krem remembered. “Nice place you got here.”

Krem didn’t know why his hero was standing in his gym. It was impossible. And yet... here the man was, looking at him in a manner that Krem could only describe as friendly. As far as he could figure, there was only one reason why the Iron Bull would be in any gym.

Krem coughed. “Uh... ain’t this a little too low class for someone like you?”

Bull scanned the room again, as if considering it anew. Then he turned back. “I didn’t come to use the equipment.”

That didn’t make any sense to Krem. He still couldn’t fathom any other reason why the Iron Bull would suddenly appear in his gym like this if it wasn’t to work out. But he’d never been good at mincing words. “Then why did you come?” he asked.

Bull spent a long moment eyeing Krem. Of course he’d never forget _that_ night. Nor the kid. Except now, he was no longer that skinny kid who’d needed defending. _Like muscles, damn._

Bull leaned down closer to him, now speaking conspiratorially. “You know – you owe me an eye.”

Krem visibly gulped, then stammered. “Uh... not sure how I could repay you for that, Chief.”

Bull smirked. “You could start by buying me dinner.”

\------------------------------

A week had passed without word from Fenris. Dorian hadn’t tried to contact him again, taking Fenris’ radio silence as a clear sign that their budding relationship was unofficially over.

 _If he doesn’t want me, then I don’t want him,_ Dorian thought to himself. Perhaps a bit self-indulgent and childish, but the man had broken his heart. Just because Dorian had confessed his true feelings. There was nothing right or fair about it, but what could he do? Wallow in self-pity forever?

Still, he missed Fenris. Those rare warm smiles that had felt like rewards. The quiet flash of intelligence in his eyes. The slow, sweep of his hand. That soft rumble of his voice speaking Dorian’s name. The curves and planes of his slender body as he writhed below Dorian’s touch. Although Dorian tried not to think of those things, at any unguarded moment, they would catch him, each memory sharp and painful like a needle in his heart.

For his friends, he now put on a brave front for their sakes, acting as if he were fine.

Case in point, he now chatted with Anders as though nothing had happened. Anders had texted him earlier that afternoon, asking him if he were going to go to the Tethras mansion to pick up his pay, then offered to share a cab with him. If Hawke had mentioned anything about Dorian’s break-up with Fenris, Anders feigned ignorance. Instead, Anders chattered away about the latest propositions that were coming up for a vote (the rights for gays to marry being the most important, and high time, too), the latest blockbuster he’d recently seen with Hawke (not much plot, but the special effects were top notch), and Cullen Rutherford (whom he’d visited twice at the rehab center).

“He’ll be getting out next week,” Anders added, as the cab pulled up to the curb.

Dorian added some of his cash to Anders’ own, then climbed out as Anders paid the driver. As the cab pulled away, Dorian cast a curious glance at his friend. “And... how is Cullen?”

Anders pushed back the lock of hair that the breeze had blown across his cheek. “He’s doing well,” he said. He looked thoughtfully at Dorian as they made their way up to the door. “He says he gets bored. In fact, I was supposed to tell you that he’d welcome another visit from you. Though, between us, I think he gets lonely. From the sound of things, your last visit cheered him immensely.”

“We’re just friends,” Dorian said, though he didn’t know what had compelled him to say it.

Anders cocked his head, thoughtful again. “Well, a man in his situation... he could use all the support he can get. He’ll have to give up his old circle of friends.”

Dorian thought of Samson. _With friends like that..._ “In that case, I’ll have to do my utmost to be supportive,” he said.

Anders smiled approvingly. “Good man.”

Passing down the corridor, they came into the lounge, which was empty except for the one escort who sat curled up on one of the sofas, reading a book.

Fenris.

Like the first time Dorian had seen Fenris in this very hall, his reaction was completely visceral. All of a sudden he broke out into a cold sweat, his heart racing, his hands shaking, his stomach hot and tight. Fight or flight. It was almost too much to bear. At least until Fenris glanced up and met his eyes, and then it was.

Dorian turned and fled.

Anders called after him, but he didn’t even slow. Every instinct for self-preservation was screaming at him to get out of there, away from Fenris, away from the pain that a confrontation would bring.

He’d just made it out the front door when a hand clamped down on his arm, strong enough to actually stop him.

“Dorian – wait.”

That voice. All full of concern, even. He could feel his stomach grow even tighter. Except he knew that fleeing this confrontation now that Fenris had come after him would just be cowardly.

Bracing himself, he turned to look at Fenris. “Wait?” Dorian snapped. Going on the offense, he used his feistiest tone, letting the hurt gush out like water from a drainpipe after a storm. “Wait for what? So you can explain to me that you’re sorry, but you just don’t feel the same way? And that it’s better that we end this now because later it will only hurt me more? And that you didn’t mean to lead me on, that it was only for a bit of fun?” He drew a deep breath. “Is that what you want me to wait for?”

For a long moment, Fenris stared at him, his body language closed – on the defense. If he’d been a cat, no doubt his ears would be flattened. Then his expression softened as understanding dawned. Heaving a soft sigh, he spoke quietly. “Someone said those words to you.”

Weary and defeated after his rant, Dorian sighed. “Yes. A man named Max,” he admitted, although talking about how the man named Maximilian Trevelyan had been the first and only other man to break his heart was truly the last thing he wanted to do. “That _is_ what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Fenris regarded him blankly. “I...” he began, then his expression changed, giving him the air of someone lost. “...no.”

 _No._ That word reverberated in Dorian’s skull. It really took a dreadfully long time for its meaning to sink in. No as in those words had not been what Fenris wanted to say. “That isn’t...” Dorian stammered, then trailed off, feeling as lost as Fenris looked. “Fenris...?”

Fenris coughed to clear his throat. “Shit,” he muttered softly. “I really need a cigarette.”

Dorian considered that. “Then have one.”

Fenris’ glance was skeptical.

“It won’t offend me if you smoke in front of me,” he insisted, though that wasn’t entirely true, because still: _Smoking. Ugh, gross._

Fenris nodded. Reluctantly released his grip on Dorian’s arm, as though unconvinced that Dorian wouldn’t try to run away again. Then he gestured to the nearby bench in the mansion’s courtyard, where they sat down next to each other.

Dorian waited, apprehensive, as Fenris withdrew one of his pretentious black cigarettes and lit up. Waited as Fenris put his lighter away in the inner pocket of his jacket, cigarette gracefully posed between two of the fingers of his right hand. Then waited some more as Fenris took a long, slow drag off his cigarette, smoke curling in the air between them.

Fenris exhaled slowly, blowing the smoke away from Dorian. “I don’t know why this is so hard,” he finally said.

Dorian waited as Fenris took another long drag, even though he was certain that the anticipation, soaked in a veneer of fear, was most likely going to kill him.

Fenris exhaled again. “Maybe because I’ve never...” he began, then trailed off, looking lost again. This time he sucked hard on his cigarette, then stared at it for a long moment, holding his breath.

Dorian resisted the strong urge he had to seize Fenris by the shoulders and shake him like a tambourine in order to rattle the words out of him.

Finally he exhaled again, this time the sound more like a sigh, just barely meeting Dorian’s eyes as he made his confession. “I do feel the same.”

_BOOM!_

It was just like that for Dorian – as if a bomb had just fallen out of the sky and exploded in his lap. The last thing he’d ever expected to hear, given Fenris’ silence. He’d assumed the worst for the past week, never even daring to imagine that Fenris felt the same.

Still, he wanted confirmation that he’d heard correctly. That he wasn’t assuming too much. It took him a long moment to form words. “So... then... you’re saying that you love me?”

Fenris averted his gaze briefly. Flicked away his cigarette. Then cleared his throat before meeting Dorian’s gaze again. “I... yes.”

There was something bubbling up in Dorian, breaking through his wall of disbelief. Fenris hadn’t run away because he didn’t love Dorian – he’d run away because he _did._

This time, Dorian recognized the feeling for what it was: happiness. Even though he felt bad for Fenris, who looked more awkward and uncomfortable than Dorian had ever seen him. Although there was a certain boyish charm to Fenris in this state, Dorian hated to see him suffer.

Intending to put him out of his misery, Dorian spoke teasingly. “Seriously, Fenris? You tell me this here, at an escort agency? That has to be the least romantic confession of love in the history of love confessions.”

Fenris stared wide-eyed at Dorian for a moment, then he chuckled. Sunlight splashed, sparkling in his emerald eyes as he gave Dorian a soft, sweet, genuine smile. “In that case... I will do my best to make it up to you.”

Visions of precisely _how_ Fenris was going to make it up to him now danced enticingly in Dorian’s head. Beginning with spending the entire night at Fenris’ apartment... if not the rest of his life.

Dorian returned the smile. “I’m already looking forward to it,” he said.

\----------------------------------

_Epilogue_

 

Half-leaning over the kitchen counter, Dorian felt Fenris press up against him from behind. He sucked in his breath once, then again as Fenris’ hand snaked around to dip below the waistband of his pants.

 _“Amatus,”_ Dorian breathed as he griped the counter with both hands, “as much as I approve of what you’re doing, we don’t really have time...”

Fenris chuckled, all hot breath against the back of his neck. Then Dorian’s skin sizzled as Fenris placed a soft, warm kiss against his nape. “I disagree,” he murmured huskily. “Our friends are notorious for being fashionably late.”

This much was true, so he couldn’t argue. Not that he wanted to argue, given how delightfully Fenris’ fingers were now working their magic on his cock. Turning slowly so that Fenris could adjust his arm without loosening his grip, Dorian slid his arms around Fenris’ shoulders.

Still, time was of the essence. Determined, Fenris stroked Dorian a little faster, his grip a little firmer, as his other hand set about unzipping Dorian’s pants to give himself more room.

 _Hn._ In the past two months together, they’d learned about each others’ bodies. By now, Fenris knew exactly how to turn Dorian on. Such as by nipping at Dorian’s collarbones as his hand continued its ministrations.

Dorian moaned. Although the party was supposed to start now, maybe there was enough time for them to at least get each other off before the first guest arrived. With unbridled enthusiasm, he placed both hands on Fenris’ belt.

The doorbell rang.

_Shit._

Tucked back into his pants, Dorian grumbled a quiet curse at his erection, hoping that it wouldn’t be obvious, before he opened the door.

Anders and Hawke, both beaming, bounded in. Carver, Bethany and Merrill trailed in behind them. Anders thrust a dark green bottle at him. “Congratulations on your housewarming party! We brought wine.”

“And Merrill and I brought you this,” Bethany said, holding out a gift bag that trailed silver and gold ribbons.

Dorian thanked them as he accepted the bag. A quick peek inside revealed that it was candles, most likely scented, which he and Fenris, no doubt, would be putting to good use later after everyone went home.

Gathered in the kitchen, the guests nibbled from the platters on the counter, as Fenris opened up two bottles of wine, one white and one red, and Dorian passed Hawke a beer from the fridge.

“So,” Merrill said to Dorian. “You must find it odd to be living in Hightown now.”

Dorian found it odd to be living with the man who was his lover. Even odder, it had been Fenris’ idea to move in together. Grinning, Dorian said, “Well, it is a burden I must bear.”

“You’ll be back,” Hawke said teasingly. “Low Town just has so much to offer.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Cockroaches and gang wars?”

Hawke laughed. “And don’t forget the gang wars between cockroaches,” he said. “Little bastards are very territorial.”

Bethany and Carver both rolled their eyes.

The doorbell rang.

Sera and Cole stood on the threshold. Seeing Dorian, Sera leaped up and grabbed Dorian in a tight hug. “Tell me you’re happy, you!” she gushed. “This is like real domestic bliss, right? If not, you know I’ll gut someone.”

Dorian gently pried the girl off him. “I assure you, I’m quite happy.”

Sera flashed him a toothy grin. “Good, cause now that I’m livin’ in yer old place, I ain’t leavin’ it.”

Cole lifted his head, looking at Dorian as he held out a large potted plant. “He likes green things... the color of hope... but he’s still afraid that everything he touches will die.”

Dorian tried to make sense of what Cole had said, but he didn’t know what it meant. Shrugging, he accepted the plant. “Thank you, Cole. I’ll make sure to water it,” he said reassuringly. “Now – come in and let me introduce you to the others.”

Back in the kitchen, Dorian introduced everyone while Fenris handed out glasses of wine and opened a second bottle of red.

Sera slapped a hand down on Dorian’s shoulder. “Now that you’re shacked up with your loverboy, you still gonna pay the bills with the old bump and grind?”

At that, all eyes turned to Dorian. Beside him, Fenris was also looking at him, though the expression he wore was one of amusement. Dorian cleared his throat. “Fenris and I will be staying at the agency for now,” he announced. “We’ve spoken to Varric, and he’s agreed to let us try working exclusively as a team.”

“That’s positively romantic,” Anders said, then batted his eyes at Hawke, who pretended he hadn’t noticed.

The doorbell rang.

“Greetings, my handsome friend,” Zevran drawled. “Such a shame you have taken yourself off the market. I feel like I’ve missed an opportunity.”

At his side, Isabela smirked. “Shame you’re so gay, kitten.”

“That...” Dorian said, “may be the first time anyone has ever actually said those words to me.”

“A compliment, surely,” Zevran said. He then held out a small woven basket with a bow on it. “We have brought you this as a gift. Things you and Fenris may enjoy. In private.”

Dorian peeked into the basket as the assortment of flavored condoms, edible oils and body paints, and battery-operated toys, among other things. “That’s most thoughtful of you both,” Dorian said, even as he tried to decide where to stash the basket before everyone saw it. “Please come in and let’s get you a drink.”

The party had already broken up into little groups, scattered about the kitchen and living room, as Dorian led the newest arrivals back to the kitchen.

“I don’t like that woman,” Fenris muttered, shooting a glare in Merrill’s direction, when Dorian reached him.

“Darling, you don’t like anyone,” Dorian said.

Fenris paused, considering that. “I like... you.”

Dorian smiled. “I’m very likable.”

Isabela chuckled. “If they get any sweeter, we’ll all end up with sugar shock.”

“Ah,” Zevran said, with his own sugary smile. “Love.”

The doorbell rang.

This time, Cullen stood there.

Dressed in dark pants and a steely gray cashmere pullover that was most likely Armani, and groomed to perfection, he looked like the old Cullen. Since leaving rehab, Cullen had taken time off from work and had gone to visit family in Honnleath, so Dorian hadn’t seen him in months. But, after conferring with Fenris, Dorian had sent Cullen a party invitation.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Dorian said.

Cullen smiled. “And miss the opportunity to see Hawke get drunk and make a fool out of himself?” he asked. “Perish the thought.”

That scenario was quite likely, and Dorian smiled. “I just hope he doesn’t decide to dance on the table.”

“No guarantee, of course.”

“No, of course not.”

Silence fell between them.

Cullen held out a pink-ribboned, light blue box that Dorian easily recognized as being from one of the high-scale pastry shops in Hightown. “I brought these,” he said. “Includes Fenris’ favorites.”

“The flaky ones with both the coffee and the vanilla creams?”

Cullen smiled. “Those would be the ones, yes.”

“In that case, we should give them to Fenris, so he can hide them before Zevran finds them. When it comes to pastries, the man is like a bloodhound.”

Dorian led Cullen to the kitchen. Fenris greeted him casually, then offered him a drink, but Cullen opted for some cranberry juice in a wine glass.

“So I can at least pretend,” Cullen said. “You know how it is. No drugs of any kind – including alcohol.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said as he sipped his wine.

 _Not going to call my boyfriend a hypocrite,_ Dorian thought. _Nope_. Although, to be fair, the only drug that Fenris did do, and always in moderation, was alcohol.

As Fenris and Cullen chatted, Dorian glanced about the room. He was certain that all their guests had arrived. The only person of note who was missing was Dorian’s best friend. In the end, however, he’d decided not to invite Felix to come all the way to Kirkwall merely to attend the party. After all – much to Dorian’s genuine surprise and utter delight – Fenris had actually agreed to taking a trip to Tevinter together to visit the Alexius family next month.

Could he have been any happier? He didn’t think so.

The doorbell rang.

To Dorian’s astonishment, the Iron Bull stood there. Maker the man was ridiculously big – so big that he nearly filled the doorway. But not too big that Dorian didn’t notice the man standing at his side:

Cremisius Aclassi.

All good manners forgotten for a moment, all Dorian could do was stare.

Bull chuckled. “You might want to close your mouth, ‘Vint, before a fly crawls into it.”

Dorian promptly shut his mouth. “I... well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting either of you, but... please do come in.”

Bull and Krem stepped inside. Dorian accepted the very expensive bottle of vodka that Bull handed to him. “It was either that or the gin,” Bull said.

“Oh?” Dorian asked, not quite getting it.

“Your boyfriend invited us.”

 _Did he now?_ Dorian wondered. He’d simply had no idea. “Funny. I suppose he just forgot to mention it.”

Bull cocked his head. “Heard from Varric that you two are only taking jobs together,” he said. He then casually placed one large hand on Krem’s shoulder, practically leering at Dorian. “You boys willing to do threesomes? Because I’ve got some _ideas.”_

Dorian blinked. There was no misunderstanding what, exactly, Bull meant. Did that mean that Krem would be willing to put on a show for Bull with them? A quick glance at the redhead’s serene expression did not disabuse Dorian of this notion. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement,” he said.

Bull smirked. “Good. Now I ought to go say hello to your other half.”

Dorian and Krem watched as Bull made his way into the apartment. Then they looked at each other.

“So, Cremisius...” Dorian ventured. “Friends again?”

A small smile quirked the corners of Krem’s mouth. “Yeah, sure,” he said.

Dorian brightened.

Krem’s admiring gaze flicked to Bull’s retreating figure briefly, then back to Dorian. “You know... I never did figure out how you talked the big lug into coming down to the gym, but...” Krem trailed off, suddenly looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Thanks.”

Had he? Dorian had been terribly drunk and only vaguely remembered that night. But he was still willing to take credit for playing matchmaker.

_And everyone gets a happy ending._

“You’re welcome,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the final chapter! Thanks to everyone for reading, especially those who have been patiently waiting for me to finish this story since I started it... umm, a while ago. :P
> 
> I'm not as active on Tumblr as I used to be, but you can still find me there as elvesfromiceland. 
> 
> May Andraste smile upon you. :)


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